Symbiosis
by Neuronerd
Summary: After the destruction of the CDC, Agents Fitz and Simmons are called upon to unravel the mystery of the outbreak which has left the dead roaming among the living. Rick doesn't trust anyone, but he will do whatever he has to in order to protect his group. The missions of the two couldn't be more different which may have dire consequences for all. Fitz-centric with others!
1. The 50 Yard Dash

**A/N: Hello again! I've done some rather odd pairings in the past, but I think this one takes the cake. To set things up, AoS is pre-HYDRA Ward and pre-anoxic Fitz while WD is somewhere after the destruction of the CDC but before the prison. For simplicity sake, I can't include everyone but I will try to incorporate as many as possible and obviously neither show strictly follows cannon because that would be neigh impossible. **

**As always, reviews let me know you care ;)**

**Chapter 1- The 50 Yard Dash**

"What do ya think they are?" Fitz whispered only mildly curious as he glanced up from his tablet with which he controlled his array of drones. Even two years ago he may have been giddy at the prospect of unraveling such an impossible riddle, or more likely he may have been slightly terrified, but ever since the day the skies over New York opened up and the earth was saved by a group of incredible humans as well as a demigod from another dimension, he was almost numb to such anomalies these days.

"I'm not sure," Simmons responded in a hushed voice so as not to draw attention as she observed via Fitz's tablet, "it seems impossible but…"

Almost intuitively sensing her trajectory, he blithely hummed "…it's like they're dead, but not dead exactly." After he thought about it for a moment he furrowed his brow and added, "It's a bit sad, really. One minute you're mindin' your own business and goin' about your day and the next you just ramble about aimlessly until you fall to bits."

"It doesn't make any sense." She agreed although her tone indicated she was very much trying to make sense of it. After all, it was her duty and supposed area of expertise. In her world everything had a perfectly rational explanation even if it was something no one else on the planet had ever encountered. "The tissue is clearly decomposing and they appear to be visually impaired, likely due to cataracts or something of the like, yet hearing seems to be intact. It looks like that's how they navigate. And as long as they have a steady supply of acetylcholine, the muscles will continue to contract assuming they can locate a source of protein to fuel chemical synthesis. Theoretically the body can continue to function even in the absence of cortical activity, sort of like how a chicken can run about even after the head has been cut off." She sputtered excitedly as she continued to watch the screen. "Or it could be a parasitic infestation like ophiocordyceps unilateralis." She turned enthusiastically to him and whispered in a rushed tone as she was prone to do when the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for her. "It's a fungus that finds its way into the brain of the carpenter ant. The fungus in effect takes over the mind of the ant and forces it to wander away from the nest until it eventually grows to the point the cranium splits open." She looked somewhat sheepish and concluded, "It kills the ant unfortunately, but it's an ingenious way to spread its spores."

Fitz wrinkled his nose slightly as he glanced from the screen to his partner. Although he knew she didn't intend to seem so excited over such a macabre phenomenon, he couldn't help but think of the time she was so engrossed in dissecting the cat at the academy she had absentmindedly left its liver by his lunch. "Bloody hell." He murmured in distaste. He was naturally driven to understand systems and how things worked just as much as her, but his world was made of wires and bits of code rather than blood and guts and he very much liked it that way. But as he watched the wretched and ragged creature shamble through the trees, seemingly oblivious to them some distance away, he couldn't help but feel unsettled and a knot twisted tight in his stomach.

"I need samples." Simmons stated emphatically.

Fitz blinked a few times in surprise as he slowly surmised what she was up to. "Well…ya' can't go out there." He replied, trying to sound equally authoritative although he was never really good at such things. He knew if he ever had half a chance at convincing her, he would have to appeal to her logic. "We don't know anything about them, how they got that way, or if we can get the ant fungus thing." He hissed wide eyed while jabbing at his forehead for emphasis. He often enjoyed the semi-psychic bond he and Jemma seemed to share, but at times like this he felt they spoke two entirely different languages because in reality they did. Biochemistry just wasn't his thing, but thanks to her he would probably never be able to erase the wonderfully horrific mental imagery of helpless exploding ants.

"Fitz…" Simmons smiled coyly at him, "Coulson sent us here to gather intel on the outbreak and I can't very well do that if I don't have samples to run tests on." She tried not to sound patronizing, but sometimes he was irrationally overprotective and anxious. She found it somewhat endearing that after all this time he had never come to fully embrace the fact he was indeed a bonafide S.H.I.E.L.D agent despite not passing his field exams, and he never hesitated to project his neuroses on her as if he could ever convince her they should never leave the safety of the lab.

He knew she was right. She always was and it irked him because he was usually right too but she was notoriously slower to admit it. His full lips hardened into a straight line as he returned his gaze to his tablet in concentration and poked furiously at it. In a determined, low voice he muttered, "Well you're not goin' out there and that's the end of it."

"But Fitz…" she began to plead.

"Not when we can do it safely." He continued patiently. He glanced up at her with a small smirk to let her know he wasn't upset with her and added in a playful tone, "That's why I'm here, right? I bring the gadgets so you can get your samples and we both get home disease free." While he readied the small drone he nicknamed Doc to swoop in for a fly-by grab at the rotting flesh, he darkly grumbled "And then I'll have to burn it before it contaminates my workspace with the putrid smell."

Simmons pretended she didn't hear his last snide comment and smiled broadly as she watched the little machine he built and programmed with his own hands buzz off into the unknown to secure her prize while she waited safely behind the tree with Fitz. "That's brilliant!" She beamed. "Try to aim for a bit with lots of oozing discharge." When he gave her an utterly revolted look, she quickly explained "Tissue is helpful, but some lovely serum or infectious material would be wonderful."

"Lovely and wonderful are not the sort of things that pop into my mind exactly." He said darkly as the knot in his stomach grew tighter still. In the end Fitz was a practical man and he thought it better to sacrifice a drone he spent many hours hunched over his workbench creating and tweaking than risk a close encounter with one of the things he wasn't so sure was even human anymore. The fact that somewhere deep down inside they may actually still be people with thoughts and memories bothered him most and he tried his best not to think about the implications.

He and Simmons had been sent to figure out the nature of the pandemic that essentially left a parade of walking corpses and to find a cure if at all possible when other more traditional agencies had failed or were simply overwhelmed. He couldn't be of much use when New York was under attack as he was still at the academy, but he might be able to help save America and for him, that was what he joined S.H.I.E.L.D to do. No one would ever know his name or put up a statue of him anywhere because he didn't have the same exposure or panache as the Avengers, but that was fine by him. He preferred working quietly behind the scenes in his lab where it was generally free of rampant disease and flying bullets, although even that was no guarantee. Still, he never would have imagined the "other duties as assigned" clause in his job description could have included this.

"Careful…" Simmons bit her lip as if the smallest breath could alter the flight path of the drone through the screen of the tablet she watched intently.

"I don't need a backseat driver, thank you." Fitz grumbled somewhat irritated as he skillfully guided the quadcopter with deft movements of his fingers across the controls, moving the bot up and around the target until he located a suitably juicy patch to extract a sample from. The monstrous being appeared to take note of the buzzing machine and began lazily grasping for it, but Fitz was able to outmaneuver the flailing limbs and circle back to activate the pincers which tore a bit of flesh off the body, causing a spray of blood and other unknown fluid to splash the drone's camera. He expected more resistance, but to his disgust the tissue came off easily…too easily.

"Excellent work, Fitz!" Simmons smiled as she gently grabbed his arm in a celebratory squeeze. Her mind began to spin theories as to what she may find once she was able to analyze the cellular structure and chemical signatures. The answer to the conundrum was in flight back to her and she was sure if given enough time she could solve the puzzle and perhaps develop a cure to save the population from the same fate. However, her smile faded when the drone inexplicably fell from the sky into a dense patch of grass at the edge of the tree line with the unwitting donor in slow pursuit.

"Shite!" Fitz quietly swore under his breath as he jabbed at the screen in a futile effort to resurrect the machine. "Circuits must've shorted out from exposure to…whatever…stuff…" he gestured helplessly with a distressed look on his face. "They're not waterproof for Christ sake. They're not meant to be drippin' in blood and god knows what else!"

Simmons tried to remain upbeat because she knew that as usual, Fitz was probably internally berating himself for his inability to foresee this particular application when he designed the drones even though the very idea was ludicrous. "Let's consider our options, shall we?" She asked in a bright and hopeful tone. But after a few tense seconds and awkward sideways glances, she admitted "We don't really have any, do we?"

"Afraid not." He sighed while keeping a wary eye on the shuffling shell of a person. "I think it's on to us now and it's too late to set up another drone." After another pause to calculate the velocity and geometry of their relative positions, his face and posture took on an air of purpose and determination. "I think I can get it."

Simmons followed his gaze toward the downed robot which was almost exactly halfway between the undead and her location. "Fitz, no! You can't!" She hissed desperately. "It's not safe. You said it yourself."

Fitz's blue eyes were set hard as concrete with resolve. "I'm not leavin' Doc, Simmons. I can run out there and be back before that…" he glanced back toward the clearing at the animated corpse who ambled toward him with outstretched arms as if it wanted to give him a very unpleasant hug, "…thing…person….whatever it is gets there. Here," he stated shuffling out of his backpack and handing her the control tablet to reduce the extra weight he would have to carry, "take these and run like hell. I'll catch up with you."

Simmons reluctantly took the items he had shoved at her and looked at him dubiously. She had reservations to say the least and she simply couldn't believe he would risk himself to retrieve a bit of metal, plastic, and wire even if he did come to view them as something like his own children. "Fitz, I…"

"Now isn't the time to debate risks and strategy! Every second counts. Just go. Go!" He ordered while he pointed in the opposite direction. Although he knew she was less than enthusiastic about his idea, he felt it was worth the risk to get his drone back along with her sample because the truth was, he didn't want to spend one more minute in the field and he knew they would have literally camped out until she got what she came for. He just wanted to get back to the safety of his lab, but he waited to make sure she took off running to make it back to the drop site for pick-up before he did. He knew how stubborn she could be and if he didn't watch her go she would likely have stayed right where she was or worse yet, ran alongside him the whole way because that's what she always did.

After she was a sufficient distance away to make it illogical even for her to turn back, he took a deep breath and launched himself in a blind sprint toward Doc. He ran as fast as he could manage, each gigantic gasp of air feeling like fire in his lungs and each footfall feeling like a hammer striking metal while he ducked and weaved among the trees until he reached the edge of the clearing, but as he arrived he realized the true value of the precious seconds he had lost in trying to convince Simmons to leave him to his insane plan. She was right. She always was.

It was even more terrifying than he could have conceived of up close. The smell of decaying flesh in the hot sun was dizzying and the way the milky white dead eyes seemed to look though him made him stop dead in his tracks. But above all, the thirsty growl that emanated from its tattered throat and chattering of teeth laid bare hinted at such relentless desperation that Fitz found himself momentarily startled and again he wondered if they were still human in any respect. They had to be in his mind as he searched the face of what once used to be a person for any sense of recognition that he too was human. Even though he realized the sense of danger and instinctually backed away to avoid the hideous being, he felt sorry for it because they no doubt didn't ask to be infected, to spread such misery and fear, to be reviled. If the time and place were different it could have been him, Coulson, Simmons, anyone he knew.

He took one last look at the pitiful monster reduced to rags and quickly bent to retrieve his drone, trying to ignore the wet stickiness that covered his hand. Blood never really bothered him, but he hated the idea of holding the stolen flesh of what used to be the person in front of him. For some reason, it just felt terribly impolite and he reflexively muttered, "M' sorry." Just as he turned and took a deep breath to again propel himself away, he felt a surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder. Startled, he collapsed and fell face down with the weight of the monster on top of him. He could hear the groaning in his ear growing almost frantic as the beast clawed at his back and arm and snapped its teeth like some sort of shark.

He struggled mightily and tried to throw the thing off him, his body fueled with pure adrenaline and panic. He managed to buck and kick enough to loosen the monster's position and was almost free enough to roll over when he heard a dull click from deep in the trees. He immediately felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder and he let out a small agonizing growl and clawed at the dirt with his hands. He thought the monster had succeeded in its quest to bite him. However, he quickly realized it was no longer moving and had fallen silent. He got up the courage to glance over his shoulder to see the shaft of an arrow sticking out of its head and he was overcome with a perplexed yet relieved sense of finality. As he let his forehead rest in the dirt while he caught his breath he secretly wondered if he had been saved by Hawkeye. He would have personally preferred Tony Stark, but he was grateful to whomever it was.

"Hold still." Came a gruff voice laden with a decidedly southern accent.

Fitz turned his attention back to the woods where a scruffy looking man wearing a black leather vest was walking cautiously toward him carrying a crossbow. The man may have been worried, mistrustful of him, or simply trying to keep the sun out of his eyes while he squinted hard at him. No matter the reason, Fitz found it very unsettling. Whoever he was, he was definitely not Hawkeye.

When the man got within two feet of him he again slowly raised his weapon and pointed it at his head in a threatening manner, suspiciously asking, "You bit?"

"I…um," Fitz stammered while he stretched his hands outward to show he was unarmed and was definitely not going to be of any trouble, "I don't think so?" Unfortunately he couldn't say for certain and the mysterious man didn't appear to be the type that would take an error kindly. He had never been bitten by another human, so he had nothing to compare the experience to. He heard some people enjoyed being bitten during sex, but if it felt anything remotely like his shoulder did then he wanted no part of such a thing and couldn't fathom why others might either.

The man glowered at him seeming to debate if he should believe him, but ultimately he took a few well-placed steps closer to have a better look at the situation, although he apparently wasn't ready to abandon his plan of putting an arrow through his head just yet. Fitz squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out an involuntary cry of pain when the man attempted to kick the body off his back, but it seemed to be stuck. The man finally lowered his weapon and squatted to determine the cause. "Mph." He finally grunted. "Sorry 'bout that man."

"It's fine." Fitz squeaked. "It's no bother, really." He had no idea what the man was talking about, but nonetheless he felt it was in his best interest to let bygones be bygones. He didn't want to seem ungrateful or in any way provoke him because it just seemed the man could make his life so much worse if he really wanted to. But if he was honest with himself, he was not fine. Hurting like hell with a smelly rotted corpse lying on top of him in the midday sun was the furthest thing from fine he could think of at the moment.

"Alright then." The man smiled with something approaching mild respect or simply masochism in his eyes. "But you're probably gonna mind what's about to happen." With a more somber expression, he lowered his voice and instructed, "Keep your mouth shut and don't holler."

With that Fitz felt a jolt of searing hot pain as the man used a knife to saw through the shaft of the arrow. Each push and pull felt like a stab wound and he fought to remain conscious through the pain, but as directed he swallowed the scream that was building in his throat as it dawned on him that the arrow had gone through the monster's head before entering and tearing through his own flesh to pin them both to the ground. Suddenly he felt irrevocably contaminated and he wanted nothing more in that moment than for Simmons to be there to tell him he would be alright, that he wouldn't develop any type of strange or debilitating disease, that he wouldn't somehow become _one of them_….


	2. Fighting Entropy

**Chapter 2- Fighting Entropy**

Simmons furrowed her brow and twisted her fingers behind her back nervously while she stood at full attention. She was well aware that Coulson was staring at her even though she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the carpet in front of his desk.

"So, what you're telling me is Fitz is still down there and we don't know where he is?" He clarified in the mysterious tone she hated so much. She never knew if he was angry or not and it would make things so much easier if he was because she was certainly angry with herself for letting Fitz talk her into such a crazy plan. She should have stood up to him, persuaded him somehow, even defied him and went with him even when she knew it would only irritate him. If she could have talked some sense into him he may not have gone, or at least gone alone and she wouldn't be stuck wondering where he was and…. "Agent Simmons?" Coulson asked expectantly.

She blinked back to the present and nodded vigorously, slightly embarrassed. "Ah, right sir. That is unfortunately correct."

"He gave you his tracker and ran off?" He asked perplexed. "That doesn't sound like him." In Coulson's mind there were procedures to be followed and while he didn't mind deviation if there was good reason, he just didn't see any. Although not a field agent, Fitz was a smart person who could be relied upon to play it safe and it seemed he mysteriously did the exact opposite. Coulson loved playing Clue, but he didn't like those kinds of mysteries.

"Well, not so much gave it to me, sir. It was in his rucksack and he took it off so he could run faster you see." While she could question his judgment in hindsight, she could at least agree with that part of his overall logic. His pack was loaded with all manner of tech supplies and weighed at least 15lbs which would have slowed him a few steps or more. Steps which as it turned out appeared not to matter, but may have very well saved his life if he realized he wouldn't make it to his drone in time, forcing him to retreat. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she noted a deeply worried expression flit across the director's face before he quickly resumed his measured facade.

"We'll find him, Simmons." He declared with an easy smile she knew to be practiced. "I'll send Ward down. If anyone has a chance at locating him, Ward can."

"Sir," Simmons piped up in a nervous yet determined tone, "I was wondering if perhaps I can accompany him. I…"

"That won't be necessary, Agent Simmons." Coulson gently interrupted. He knew it was a bad idea to send his scientists unaccompanied into the field in the first place. He may have already lost one and he damn sure wasn't about to lose the other. The blunt truth was, he sent Fitz to help Simmons because she was more useful in tackling this dilemma than he would be- at least initially. It wouldn't have surprised him at all if Fitz designed some sort of robotic mass inoculation gizmo, but he needed Simmons to develop a chemical cure first. Then again, Fitz did do some surprising work in developing the anti-serum to the _Chitauri helmet_ virus to save Simmons. "Believe me, I appreciate that Fitz is your colleague and friend and I know you want to help look for him, but whatever happened down there wasn't your fault. If we have any chance at all at cracking this mysterious disease that's turning the world into the Night of the Living Dead, you will be the one to do it and we need you here." He had to look away from her crestfallen face because he knew he was asking a lot of her. She and Fitz were nearly inseparable, but they had a mission and he knew she would follow orders no matter how painful they may be.

"Of course, sir." She tried to mask the crushing sense of disappointment she felt in her facial expression and tone. "But what if he's injured down there and needs help? In those situations, time is of the essence." As the team's only medical expert it was her last trump card and she hoped Coulson wouldn't call her bluff.

"It's always a possibility," he admitted, "but Ward can provide basic life support and call it in. We can get him to you ASAP once he's located. We'll make sure May is at the ready and keeps the engine running. In the meantime, I want you to brief Ward on any intel you gathered while you were down there. He needs to know what he's getting into."

"Yes, sir." She quietly mumbled as she hung her head. She wanted nothing more than to go back to look for him, to be there when he was found, to tell him how stupid he was once she made sure he was alright, but those things would have to wait. She had her orders.

She mindlessly wandered back to the lab even though she had no samples to analyze. She came back from the mission not only empty handed, but missing her partner and she felt as though she had failed everyone. She folded her arms across her chest and sighed as she leaned up against her stainless steel and immaculately organized lab table, forcing the myriad of tiny glass vials filled with various colored liquids to softly tinkle as they rocked back and forth in their trays. There had to be a solution, there always was. But the longer she stood there staring across the room at Fitz's workbench covered in broken bits of parts and blueprints her sense of hopelessness grew deeper. She couldn't help him at all. She couldn't be part of the solution and it made her feel helpless.

She couldn't even begin to guess what may be behind the mysterious pathogen that started the pandemic, how it was transmitted, or how to stop it. If Fitz came back infected, she wouldn't have the first clue of how to go about treating him. All she would be able to do is isolate him in a medical containment pod and try her best to focus on finding a cure while he glanced hopefully at her through the glass walls. On second thought, he wouldn't do that. He would do anything but make eye contact with her because she knew he wouldn't want her to feel responsible should things go badly. He would quietly sit on the gurney and let his own sense of self-blame for putting her in that position slowly eat him alive from the inside out, and to her that would be just as painful to watch.

She slowly crossed the room to his desk to pick up a small hunk of metal with multi-colored wires hanging out of it like spaghetti. She carefully turned it in her hands and wondered what it could be, although to her it appeared to be some sort of motor. How Fitz was able to look at such a broken chaotic thing and easily make something splendidly useful out of it was beyond her comprehension. He often told her it was probably the same as how she was able to mix chemicals or fix wounds with instruments or medications, although to her it was not remotely the same thing. To her, chemicals had constant properties that never changed and the body typically responded to treatments in similar ways if the proper sequence of steps were followed, while he seemed to defy the first law of thermodynamics by entirely creating something new from things which were never meant to be. It was almost magical and she softly smiled, yet in her wonder she couldn't help but feel as though the world was falling apart all around her, just as the second law of thermodynamics predicted things eventually do.

"Coulson said you wanted to see me?" Ward's deep voice quietly rumbled through the mostly empty lab. He saw Simmons was deep in thought and he didn't want to startle her too badly, causing her to drop whatever the hell Fitz made up as his latest toy. He would never hear the end of it from either of them and that was one less headache he could live with.

Simmons quickly put the bobble back on Fitz's desk and stammered as though she were embarrassed to have been caught holding it. "Um, yes! Ward, how nice to see you." Her voice was forcibly chipper and she blushed slightly, although she didn't know why.

"…And you." He returned with a semi-confused expression. He found his life was generally much less complicated if he stayed out of everyone's business, but he couldn't help but wonder if some of the speculation going around about FitzSimmons running some more 'personal' experiments of their own didn't have some truth to it judging by her reaction. At any rate he wanted to get control of things before they got any stranger. "So Coulson…." He hinted with a small gesture indicating he wanted to talk about the business at hand.

"Yes, Coulson. Right." She gathered herself with a tight nod and put aside her personal feelings to assume a more detached and professional tone. "Fitz and I were sent to gather intelligence on the outbreak which has been causing some sort of altered state of consciousness with rapid decomposition of the body's tissues in affected individuals. Now, we were unsuccessful at gathering samples, but I would venture to guess that this process may be caused by some sort of necrotizing hemolytic virus vector, although it is also possible that particulates may be spread through pneumatic expulsion which might explain the rapid increase in known cases much like the flu pandemic of 1918 or perhaps even the Black Death in the middle ages. If that were the cause…" She was so wrapped up in defining the possible etiology, she failed to notice that Ward's eyes had glazed over sometime around the words "altered consciousness."

"Whoah." Ward smiled genially waving his hand for her to stop. "Let's start again, this time keeping in mind that I'm a field agent and not a scientist. I fire guns and make things go 'boom' so keep it simple. What do I need to do to avoid or neutralize these things?"

"Right." She reminded herself with an embarrassed smile. She was so used to chattering away with Fitz in the lab that she took for granted the fact he could keep up with her and despite their different approaches, they both had the common understanding and language of science to share. "The thing is, we don't know much about them at this point. They orient themselves to sound as their vision appears to be poor. They can't move too quickly, but they are always driven toward finding food. What it is they feed on, we're not sure but they obviously need to sustain nourishment to keep going as they do."

"What's my risk of infection if I come into close contact with one of them?" He asked almost dispassionately. If he was at all bothered by the notion of being in close proximity to an animated corpse he didn't show it. Then again, she wasn't really surprised given what he did for a living.

"Again, we have no assurances but for safety sake I would assume that any bodily fluids would be dangerous." She gave a small smirk and added, "It's probably best you just keep your distance so as not to come in contact with potentially biohazardous materials whilst not wearing a protective suit."

While he couldn't argue with her warning, there was no practical way he could execute an extraction while wearing what seemed to him a puffy moon suit. "Great." He sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Anything else I need to know?"

She fidgeted a bit before making her way to a climate controlled cabinet to remove a small black vinyl case emblazoned with a red cross to indicate medical supplies. She carefully handed it to him and gave a slight shrug. "In case you need it."

"Ok," he agreed looking through the pack of pre-filled syringes with a scowl, "what are these?"

"They're color coded so you won't get them confused. Just think of a stoplight: yellow is caution and those are wide spectrum antibiotics while red is stop and those are pain killers. The syringes are filled to Fitz's body weight, so you will have to use one and a half doses for yourself. There's enough there for you both. If Fitz has any cuts or scrapes when you find him, give him a yellow shot just to be safe and of course see to yourself if you are in any way exposed." She sighed lightly as she took stock of the bag one more time. "I'm not even certain these will be powerful enough to work, but it's the best I have."

"We won't even need them." Ward said with an encouraging nod. "Fitz will be fine and we'll both come back unharmed." He tucked the bag into the back pocket of his jeans and gave a small smile to cheer her up. "You know he's probably just hiding up in a tree somewhere waiting for someone to come find him."

"Like a monkey." She softly whispered.

"Probably." He chuckled. The man did have a strange affinity for monkeys for some reason. "I'll be using the com system, so you can listen in you know…" he glanced down uncomfortably, "…if you need to be ready to…" He wanted to share her optimism, but part of being a successful agent was planning for all possibilities and he had to at least consider the fact that Fitz was injured or worse yet dead and his extraction became a recovery operation.

"I know." She nodded, maintaining her cheer despite her gnawing anxiety. "But we won't need to, right?" The prospect of doing an autopsy on the body of her best friend was simply inconceivable.

"Right." He agreed turning for the door. "Hey, what was the green in the stoplight? I didn't see any of those in the bag."

"Ah, green is all good. No problems!" She smiled.

"Makes sense." He shrugged. "Let's stay code green then."

"Yes, lets." She agreed. "Good luck, Agent Ward." She wanted nothing more than to follow him to the rear of the bus where he would be taking one of the fleet SUV's to Fitz's last known location. She wanted to help, but she looked around the sterile lab and never felt so alone or useless in her life. Coulson was right in that if anyone had a chance in finding Fitz it was Ward and she knew he would. She just hoped he was alive and breathing when he came back. The more she thought about it, she could handle having to rush to find a cure if he was indeed infected because she couldn't bear the thought of being too late and not even having the chance to save him in the first place.

She swallowed hard and returned to her lab table to begin mixing various assays for the most probable known disease vectors. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but at the very least she could occupy her mind and have something of a head start for when they did return. As she told Coulson, in these situations time was of the essence and she had no time to waste.


	3. Guest of Honor

**Chapter 3- Guest of Honor**

Fitz had been awake for some time, although he kept his eyes shut and lay still as a stone on what he assumed was a hard wooden floor. People around him were talking in hushed tones, some men and some women, and judging by the voices there were at least five different people. He was pretty sure he was no longer wearing his shirt or sweater and that made him more uncomfortable than what felt like a shoddy bandage that wrapped his shoulder. In fact, they may have used his shirt as a bandage, but he couldn't quite tell and dared not peek least he blow his cover. Aside from eavesdropping to determine his situation, his general avoidance of having to be what amounted to nearly naked in front of strangers motivated him to continue playing opossum.

"So he's clean?" Came a man's gruff voice. Whoever the guy was, he was clearly agitated as he had been pacing the floor for some time and the sound of his shoes scraping the wood was becoming irritating. "You're sure he's not bit?"

"Nah, he's good." The mystery man's familiar southern drawl replied. "Tough little bastard, though. He never yelped once and it had to hurt like a sombitch."

"He's fine." A woman confirmed. "I checked him out myself. Got a few scrapes and a new hinge in his shoulder thanks to Daryl, but the walker didn't get him."

The mystery man scoffed. "Point is I got it 'fore it had him for lunch, ain't it? Can't shoot perfect all the time, 'specially when he's bucking like a bull that got stung in the ass by a hornet."

"I'm sure he's grateful all the same." Chimed a woman who sounded slightly older, as if such a thing could be determined by the sound of a voice.

"Well, he can't stay here." The first man decided. "We don't know where he came from or who his people are. As soon as he wakes up, he needs to leave."

"But that could be awhile." A third man piped up. "If you send him out like that, the walkers will smell the blood and be all over him. He didn't even have any weapons on him, right Daryl?"

"None." He grumbled. "Just that toy helicopter thing."

Fitz's ears involuntarily tinged pink at the insult of having his drone deemed a toy, but it was enough for the impatient man to take notice. He felt a firm nudge in his side by a boot and slowly opened his eyes to see a slender man staring down at him with a scruffy beard and intense blue eyes. He seemed to be in a barn of some sort with other people who at least regarded him with neutral expressions.

"Get up." The man ordered in a flat yet suspicious tone, his six shooter strapped to his side like a cowboy. "Who are you?"

He struggled to sit upright, but felt weak and dizzy and found his left arm to be almost useless as it couldn't bear his weight. When he managed to right himself after floundering like a fish out of water, he quietly responded, "Fitz. Well, Leo's my first name, but um…Fitz I guess. Just Fitz." He had to force himself to stop rambling because the man who towered over him didn't seem to even care despite his inquiry.

"Alright then, just _Fitz_." He all but sneered. "How many people have you killed?"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times while he willed his brain to make sense of what he heard. "What? What kind of bloody asinine question is that?" He cried incredulously. "I don't even know your name and ya' want to jump in to how many people I sent on?"

The man slowly crouched to get eye level with him, his gaze hard and unwavering. "How many people have you killed?" He asked in a low, slow tone.

Fitz took a small breath to quell his nerves. This man was dangerous and he thought he would do well to answer because he may not have the patience to ask a third time. "Nobody. Well, I did kick a guy in the head with my boots once, but I um, I don't think I killed him. No." Even though he may have played his mission with Ward up a bit more for Simmons, it was the honest truth. He never killed anyone and he never wanted to. Suddenly he found himself wishing he had asked Ward exactly what 'slam and cram' meant, although he was still very, very attached to his pinky and didn't want to contemplate a scenario in which he may be forced to part with it.

"How many walkers have you killed?" He went on.

"Walkers?" Fitz asked confused. "What the hell is that?"

"How do you not know what a walker is?" An Asian man asked dumbfounded. "Where are you from that there aren't any?!"

Fitz matched his voice and realized this was the man who didn't want him to be tossed out on his bum because he wouldn't make it. It seemed to him everyone felt that way about him in some way or another, apparently even people who didn't even know him. "You mean the people out there fumblin' about?"

"They're not people. At least not anymore." A woman with short greying hair said in an almost sad tone. Still, it was clear she didn't feel any pity for them.

"None. I don't kill people alive or dead…not exactly dead…or whatever." He mumbled shaking his head. Can you really kill something that isn't truly alive? But obviously they weren't dead either….would such a thing still even be considered murder? Would he feel guilty if he ever had to kill one of them?

"Who else is out there?" The angry man asked pointing to a dirty window.

Fitz glanced at the fading light outside and his thoughts immediately turned to Simmons. He hoped she hadn't come to look for him, but he couldn't be for certain. What he was sure of is the fact he would never give an inch on this question. He took a light breath and steadied himself for the possibility he may be tortured. He was not a field agent, but he knew these things took place. No matter what happened from there on out he had to do his best not to spill his guts and potentially compromise the lives of his teammates. "No one." He said simply.

The man shook his head as though he couldn't believe the little man had the temerity to lie to his face. "No one?" He laughed lightly. "You mean to tell us you just appeared out of nowhere, dressed like you are and lookin' like you eat steak every day?"

Fitz nervously glanced down at his pale bare upper body and again felt very self-conscious because it was true. He didn't have the tall, well chiseled physique of Ward, but he did appear to be very well fed and dressed in comparison to the ragtag group in front of him. He briefly considered the possibility they may want to eat him, tasteless as he probably was. His thoughts were interrupted when the testy man fished his access badge from his back pocket.

"Agent Leo Fitz." He stated calmly as he looked the badge over. "At least you didn't lie about that." It was meant to be a backhanded reminder that he expected the truth at all times and judging by the way the little man narrowed his eyes slightly it seemed he got the message well enough. "Says here you're a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. An engineer." He glanced over at Fitz with an expression that almost dared him to lie to him again. "Care to elaborate?"

"Well, it's an international counter-terrorism organization …" he began, thinking it wise to leave out the espionage bit of things. The man seemed paranoid enough as it was.

"I know that." The man patiently ground out. "Word kinda got around after New York. What's your role in things and why are you here?"

"We…" he immediately caught himself and stated "_I_ was sent to try to figure out this whole thing goin' on with the walkers and such and to try and figure out a way to stop it."

"We, huh?" The man smirked before pushing Fitz onto his back and standing to step on his injured shoulder. He knew the little rat was lying all along and he couldn't afford to put his group at risk. They had barely been hanging on as it was and he resolved to neutralize any threat to their survival. "Who else is out there?" He yelled while grinding down harder.

"Bloody hell!" Fitz growled while he clenched his teeth though the blinding pain that radiated through his chest and down his arm. "God! Are you mental? It's me. It's just me! I said 'we' because of my drone. I built it myself!" He knew it was a longshot, but he would do or say anything to protect Simmons and if at all possible, stop the torture. He knew he couldn't fight back because it was five to one and while the others may not have agreed with the madman's tactics judging by their expressions as they watched with averted eyes, not one of them lifted a finger to make him stop. After the vengeful man thought about it and removed his foot, Fitz panted breathlessly and with a wince added, "I used my drone to try to get a sample of the things because I need to know what we're dealin' with. That's why it's covered in blood and _that's_ why I'm here." His voice faded away towards the end because he was spent, both physically and mentally and even talking was becoming a chore.

"And by 'we' you mean S.H.I.E.L.D." The grey haired woman clarified in a soft tone. It seemed she didn't want to see it go on and maybe felt just a little sorry for him.

"Yes." He answered, pinching the bridge of his nose while he tried to clear his head. If he was going to get out of this, he needed to have all of his faculties about him to avoid another slip up. "We were asked to help find the cause and develop a cure because other government agencies can't."

"The CDC is gone." The angry man informed him. "It blew up a long time ago."

Fitz couldn't hide his irritation. "Isn't that what I just said in the Queen's bloody English? They're gone so now it's up to us. Besides, we're a bit better funded anyway." It may have sounded like gloating, but he didn't really give a damn by that point. If they wanted the truth, they just got it.

After a few minutes of silence, the Asian man quietly observed, "You didn't even know what a walker was. Is there any place people are safe or are they everywhere?"

Perhaps it was sharing intelligence which may or may not be classified, but there was something in the man's tone that spoke of unending fear, not only for his own life but fear it may all have been for nothing. Fitz felt exhausted and weak from the day's events, but he also felt he owed the man an answer. He seemed to be the only clear ally in the room aside from maybe the guy they called Daryl and the grey haired woman, although he couldn't be sure on either count. He licked his dry lips and gave a slight nod. "As far as we know, the outbreak seems to be limited to America and some parts of Canada and Mexico, but it appears to be spreadin' quickly. That's why I need to study them. I have to try and stop this." He felt a bit like a traitor because even though he knew it to be true in some sense, he also knew damn well even if he could gain access to a lab he wouldn't be able to get much further than the basics without Simmons. She was the key to unraveling this mess, yet here he was posing as some sort of modern day Jonas Salk.

The angry man's countenance seemed to soften a little as he nodded. "I'm Rick." He grumbled, handing Doc to the man he had only tortured minutes before. "And this here's my family," he gestured as he ambled away, "and I have to keep me and mine safe you understand. You're welcome to stay here until you heal up, but then you'll be on your way, you hear?"

In truth, Fitz didn't want to stay one more minute even if he perfectly understand Rick's need to protect those he cared about, but he knew his chances were better staying in the barn with total strangers than being out in the dark with roaming cannibals armed with nothing but a broken drone. He slowly turned Doc in his hands and managed a weak, "Thank you." He saved his strength for a much more sincere expression of gratitude for the archer that saved his life, even though he accidently put a hole in him in the process. Simmons would not be happy with that particular development, he was sure of it. Daryl gave him a slight nod in return, but Fitz felt the weight of the moment as though it was a rare form for him.

He was correct in assuming they had used his own shirt to fashion a makeshift bandage, but he found his sweater lying nearby so he put it on and felt at least a little less exposed as he settled in for a nap. He knew his tracker was in his backpack and hopefully far away with Simmons. He also knew he could rig his drone to emit a weak signal his team could use to locate him. The problem was, the circuitry was dead and calling in reinforcements might provoke a showdown between S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the group. Fitz didn't want to see anyone hurt on either side, yet he knew he couldn't leave on his own. It seemed he had no choice but to remain where he was until his fatigued brain could formulate a better solution and he slipped into what he hoped would be relatively restful sleep.


	4. Plan B

**A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed this crazy matchup! Knowing others are out there is encouraging ;)**

**Chapter 4- Plan B**

It was nightfall already and Ward slowly inched forward along the road in the dark. It was doubly challenging to quietly weave in and out of stalled cars and bodies without the aid of headlights. Even though Simmons said the monsters were attracted by sound, they seemed to recognize the bright lights as being unnatural to the environment and he noticed a few he passed attempted to follow behind him, stumbling after him with a blind sense of destiny. He gripped the steering wheel harder and focused with a slight squint to press on despite the degree of difficulty. He had done hard things before, some considerably harder than this, but Fitz hadn't. Mentally harder, yes- he would grant him that hands down. But in this nightmarish landscape he was completely out of his element and he secretly had to wonder if he might have been too late. This just didn't seem to be the kind of thing Fitz could survive on his own.

While initially he tried to avoid running over the scattered dead bodies because it just seemed disrespectful, he quickly realized it was a fool's errand and he had no choice but to be thankful he chose a vehicle with four wheel drive capability. He tried to ignore the constant rocking motion of the SUV as bodies were crushed beneath him, but it felt a lot like being in a boat in a storm and it sickened him somewhat. While none of them made any attempt to get out of the way, he wasn't sure if the ones lying down were resting of sorts and would get up to follow him or not. He really wished Simmons could have told him more, but as he saw it he too was gathering intel as he went along and he passed along his observations as he made note of anything he thought might be useful to her thought the com. Everyone was listening, but he knew she was perhaps listening most closely.

"Looks like you're about a quarter mile from the last signal." Coulson's voice hummed into his earpiece. "How's it looking down there?"

Ward glanced out the windows of the car and shook his head. "Like the set of a horror film." In all of the missions he had been on and been involved with, he had never quite seen anything like it. It was like life just came to a halt in an instant while people were desperately trying to flee whatever had ultimately overtaken them. The stillness and destruction were nothing short of eerie.

"Fitz and I were going to take the main road in, but it was quite clogged with cars and…well…" Simmons trailed off as though she were trying to find a polite way to talk about the dead bodies without seeming disrespectful, "…anyway we just parked on the side and hiked through the woods. It was considerably less difficult."

"Yeah, well it's kind of dark now. Probably not the best when there is no moonlight and limited visibility." Ward cursed under his breath when he couldn't quite negotiate a tight squeeze between a car and semi-truck and the still night air was pierced with the nails-on-chalkboard screech of metal on metal. He reflexively checked his mirrors to see if any of the monsters had woken up or noticed, but only a few had and they were far back and seemed to be moving slowly. "Sorry." He said sheepishly.

"Acceptable collateral damage." Coulson's cheerful voice consoled him. "I'll put up with the cost of a paintjob if it means getting an agent out safely. Just one of Fitz's gizmos is worth more than the cost of that SUV- techy bulletproofed armor included."

"I thought he designed the armor." May stated in her typical dispassionate voice, although she wasn't fooling anyone. She was just as concerned as everyone else, even if she didn't show it in quite the same way.

"He did." Simmons groaned. "I very nearly went deaf because he went through endless trials testing various incarnations of non-Newtonian fluids by shooting at them with everything short of a tank. He had to find the one that would provide reduced weight with proper van der Waals force and strength enough to withstand a veritable nuclear explosion. The final product works beautifully but as you see, Ward, it was really meant for high velocity or sheer force protection rather than low speed abrasion."

Ward chuckled at the thought of Fitz shooting at petri dishes like Dirty Harry. Watching him handle the recoil of some of the larger caliber weapons would've been far more entertaining than any movie night he'd ever attended on the bus for sure. Then again, watching paint dry was better than some of May's legendarily abysmal choices, but no one ever had the guts to complain; not her face anyway. "Come on, Simmons. How often does he ever get to fire guns? He may not say so, but it's sort of fun."

Just the smallest hint of humor glimmered in May's voice. "It was all purely in the pursuit of science, I'm sure."

"We'll have to tell him about the flaw in his design so he can annoy Simmons by spending hours sawing away at materials with a nail file in the lab." Ward laughed.

"I would appreciate it if perhaps you might not." She asked politely. "Because he will. Perhaps even days." Even the thought of a constant stream of scraping sounds set her on edge.

"Alright," Ward sighed in frustration, "I've gone about as far as I can on the road. I'm going to get out and see what I can see, but without light I'm not sure what I can find."

"Do what you can, but be careful, Ward." Coulson advised. "Don't do anything stupid. If it looks like it's going to be a wash, wait for morning."

"Yes, Sir." Ward acknowledged as he turned off the ignition and the still night collapsed around him. It wasn't himself he was worried about, it was Fitz. If he built a fire to stay warm in the chilly night or perhaps as a signal, it would no doubt draw the attention of the monsters. If he didn't, he ran the risk of hypothermia especially if he was dehydrated or injured. Any way he looked at it, if Fitz was outside he probably wasn't doing well.

Ward quietly closed the door to the SUV and quickly ran a scan of the area one last time just to be certain the drone's signal hadn't suddenly come back online. Maybe Fitz was no longer in the same area as the drone, but given the time that had passed he probably wasn't far. Just as he suspected he was met with silence, so he took stock of the area and made off toward the coordinates Simmons gave him as their last location.

The woods were never really a place Ward ever found frightening. In fact, he enjoyed camping and being close to nature because it tapped into something primal he thought was common to everyone. There was nothing like reading the landscape and utilizing natural instincts to get by, it was almost like a long lost ability that lie dormant in the modern age. As he slowly crept along, hypervigilant to every swish of the breeze in the trees and snap of twigs, he listened for anything that may indicate he was not alone aside from wild animals that called the space home. "Fitz?" He hissed. "Fitz are you out here?"

He searched the area including the treetops, but it was dark and it smelled like a thunderstorm was rolling in. Before turning back he spotted a body lying face down just at the edge of a clearing. It wasn't far from where Simmons said he had run from and his stomach sank. Still, any answer was better than none so he willed his legs to carry him toward the body, hoping with increasing intensity with every step it wouldn't be the team's engineer.

It was so dark he was almost on top of it before he realized with a rush of relief it was not Fitz. He squatted down next to the body and picked up the sawed off end of the arrow that had pierced through the head and looked at the ground. Although there was a good amount of blood, there was too much to have come from the body even with a headshot. Even more mysterious, the grass around the body had been trampled as though someone had been pacing or sitting and a trail had been formed pointing to the east, the bent blades of grass smeared with blood. "Simmons," Ward called quietly, "I think I might have found something."

Simmons put down the pipette she was holding in her trembling hand to gather herself. While she was excited to hear of some progress, he didn't exactly say he had found Fitz. He said he found something, but the tone of his voice worried her. "What is it?" She inquired in a forced professional tone.

"Well, two things really. I found the thing you said you got the sample from with an arrow in its head." He pulled out his cellphone and sent a picture. "Is that the same one?"

"Yes, but that's ridiculous." She scoffed, "Fitz is no archer. It was fine when we left it." After she thought about it, she stammered, "Well, I realize that 'fine' is a relative term here, but what I meant…"

"Yeah, I got it." Ward sighed impatiently. He was in the pitch dark with monsters, an unknown archer that was by all accounts a wicked shot, and an approaching storm. He didn't have time for equivocations. "I also found blood that leads east and away from the body."

She closed her eyes as her breath caught in her throat. "Do...do you think it's Fitz's?"

"I have no idea." Didn't he already tell her he wasn't a scientist? "I don't see anything else that would indicate he was here. It could have been anyone."

"Right, then." She steeled herself. Maybe it wasn't Fitz at all, but she had a duty to test the hypothesis with Ward's help. "In the back of the SUV in the first aid kit there's a blood typing pack. Use the swab to gather a sample and send it to me. I can run it against Fitz's medical records to determine who it belongs to."

"Sounds like a plan." Ward agreed as he stood. He looked to the sky and felt a few drops of rain on his face and he knew he had very little time. He had to hurry or his evidence would be washed away, but there was no way he could make it to the SUV and back before the storm hit even if he ran. "Simmons," he called to draw her attention. "Looks like we have to go to plan B. I'll bring the sample to you."

"Ok," she agreed hesitantly with a furrowed brow, "but that means you will have to come back and go again which is terribly inefficient. Perhaps,"

"I know, Simmons. But trust me, this is the best I can do for now. It's dark out here and there's nothing more I can do until morning." He hated to be the bearer of bad news and she was right in that the additional time delay was putting Fitz at further risk, but it was a tactical decision. She may know science, but he knew mission planning. He took off his shirt and mopped the ground away from the body to increase the chance of gathering a clean sample, allowing the cotton fibers to soak up the blood until he felt he had enough for Simmons to work with.

As he looked back to the body he felt he could perhaps do her one better. She said the sample Fitz gathered had been lost, but he had the chance to gather another- or the whole body if she wanted it. "Hey May, how about a pick up?" He asked while the rain came pouring down and thunder rumbled in the distance. He quickly tucked the soiled shirt into his pants to preserve the evidence and hoped in some small way it was Fitz's blood. Not that he wanted any harm to come to him, but he knew that as a part of S.H.I.E.L.D he had to undergo routine medical screening and because of this he was probably much cleaner than the average person and certainly safer than the corpses.

"Copy that, but I can't sit in that clearing." May warned sternly. "It's not big enough. We can go for a draw-up if you're game."

"That's fine. Simmons needs a sample and I found it." He clarified. "I got a whole one here for her to cut up."

"Is it safe to bring aboard?" Coulson asked worried. "I don't want one of those things roaming around."

"I can use the containment bay." Simmons promised. "But from what I have observed, they are not exactly intelligent and probably wouldn't even be able to operate a standard door lock."

"Did I mention it was dead?" Ward asked giving it a nudge with his boot. "It's not going anywhere anyway."

"I'm not the scientist here, but if there's one thing I've noticed it's that dead doesn't mean what it used to." Coulson wryly joked. He himself was living proof of that. "Still, if you think this will be helpful, Agent Simmons, proceed with all caution."

Suddenly the wind picked up to hurricane strength and Ward looked up to see the rear bay of the bus open with a bright, shining light overhead. Slowly, a small platform was lowered by a pulley chain system and it took more effort than he expected to kick and cajole the body onto it. It would have been much faster and simpler for him to pick it up, but he was careful to heed Simmons' warning to avoid body fluids, the bloody shirt stuffed into his pants and his general aversion to such a thing notwithstanding. He surveyed the landscape as he was drawn up and scowled. There were few structures in the surrounding mostly farmland area, so if Fitz sought shelter he would have had few options, which actually made his job easier. It also meant he had to walk a fair distance to reach them, which equally meant he may have collapsed in the middle of a field somewhere.

Once in the bus, Simmons was the first to greet him with a big smile pushing a gurney to collect her prize. Her safety goggles were a little too big for her face and she couldn't push them up for the face shield and other protective garb she was wrapped in, but she didn't seem to mind in the least. "Ward, this is fantastic!" She beamed. If she was at all repulsed by the pile of decaying flesh in front of her, she didn't show it and he had to wonder about her psychological make-up.

"I've got something else for you." He grinned reaching into his pants.

"Oh my." She stammered while her cheeks blushed slightly. If Fitz was there he would no doubt have had some scathingly sarcastic remark about the agent being shirtless and dripping wet or wanking himself off, but she wasn't quite as awkward about tense sexual humor. She had seen plenty of male bodies in all states of dress for all kinds of reasons medically, and honestly after a while one penis begins to look very much like every other. Still, she could have fun with it if the moment was right, which was something Fitz could never seem to manage.

"The other sample." He chuckled, extending the blood stained shirt to her. He too could enjoy a laugh now and again even if it was at his own expense. He was well aware FitzSimmons viewed him as some sort of G.I. Joe meathead runway model, especially after he caught them mocking him in the lab with their whole 'I'm Agent Grant Ward' shtick. She took the shirt with much less enthusiasm and the smile faded from her face, making him somewhat sad. She probably felt he wasn't doing everything he could to find Fitz, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

He gave her a sympathetic look as he grabbed another shirt from a bay cabinet and returned to the platform to be lowered into the darkness again. He quietly added, "I want to find him too, but you have to trust me, Simmons. I need your help. I need you to tell me how to make sense of what I find and together we'll get him back, ok?"

"Of course." She nodded bravely as she wrung the shirt in her hands. At least she had more to work with both in finding Fitz and in solving the mystery of the disease. She had two solid leads in her grasp and she decided to prioritize by starting with the shirt. The disease had been raging on for a while now and it had produced at least one dead body for her to examine while the shirt may help find one who was hopefully still very much alive. She wrestled the corpse onto the gurney and wheeled it into one of the two containment bays of the lab before abandoning it for the black cotton fabric.

She discarded her protective gear and put on a fresh pair of latex gloves to avoid potential cross contamination and began examining the cloth. "He would have to wear black." She muttered miserably as she strained her eyes looking for any spots of discoloration that would indicate potential blood. Finally, around the lower left hem she found a good sized portion of darker stiffened material and she felt it was her best bet. She sterilized a pair of small scissors and carefully cut around the outer edges of the stain until it was free of the shirt. She cut an even smaller piece off of the oval and dropped it into a vial, swishing it around until the liquid turned pink, suggesting the substance was indeed blood and not barbecue sauce Ward may have spilled on himself during lunch.

"Alright then." She quietly hummed to herself, trying to remain as objective as she could as she moved on to her next step of determining if it was human as opposed to animal blood. It was a slow process of elimination, but each step had to be completed so as not to jump to conclusions. When placed in a solution of anti-human serum, the liquid clotted almost immediately- confirming the blood was left by a person. But the final question was who? She pursed her lips as she gently scraped the cloth with a sharp scalpel to flake off bits of blood that would hopefully yield useable material. Several more steps including buffer solutions, removal of denatured proteins and fats via the centrifuge, many washes, and even more buffer solutions later she had a polymorphic representation of the donor's genetic code, which she now knew to be male. She plugged the data into the lab's computer, simultaneously hoping that it was Fitz and hoping it wasn't and waiting with baited breath while the program compared every amino acid of the sample to Fitz's known genetic make-up. When the results were finally returned, she was almost completely numb. "Sir," she called for Coulson in a defeated tone she knew all listening would hear, "it's him."

Ward heard her and hung his head slightly as he waited in the safety of the SUV. Outside his window, a monster growled and pounded at the glass relentlessly, seemingly oblivious to the thunder and lightning of the storm.


	5. Sleepless

**Chapter 5- Sleepless**

Fitz blamed the loud crash of thunder for disturbing his sleep, but in truth the pain in his shoulder was getting worse and every slight move felt like fire in his bones. He rolled his head toward the dirty window and listened to the rain pelt the roof like a million ball bearings falling from the sky and the wind suddenly picked up and howled like a tornado. His eyes wandered until they caught those of the woman who said she had checked him over and deemed him "clean" whatever that meant.

She gave him a brief commiserative smile from where she sat next to the Asian man with her arms wrapped around her legs, apparently sleepless as well although her partner seemed to be doing quite well in the slumber department. She quietly got up and sat next to him with another friendly smile and asked, "Kinda scary, huh?"

Fitz licked his dry lips because he was never really good at small talk, but he had nothing better to do and she seemed friendly enough. "Not really." He disagreed quietly. "I mean, I like to think it's Thor even though really he can be quite terrifying." She laughed which made him feel somewhat better.

"Thor." She repeated in a mock dreamy voice. After the events in New York, he was every housewife's fantasy- a muscular, blonde, hammer wielding demigod with a deep voice and unidentifiable accent to boot. "Have you ever met him?"

"Me? No." He quickly responded shaking his head. "I've never met any of the Avengers. We sort of work in different departments, but I'd love to get my hands on some of Tony Stark's designs. I mean, I know he's brilliant and all, but it's just I…um…I think I could help make some improvements, ya' know?" He realized it probably sounded immensely arrogant to compare himself to Stark. While he otherwise shared absolutely nothing in common with the billionaire playboy philanthropist, he felt that he could probably at least hold his own over a nice cup of tea and some blueprints.

Thankfully she didn't seem to be put off by the notion, but she didn't seem impressed either. Rather she seemed sad as she drew her knees to her chest and hung her head. "Makes you wonder where they've been in all this." She said quietly.

"Well, they can't be everywhere all the time now can they?" He wanted to sound encouraging, but again he felt it came out all wrong. At least being misunderstood was familiar territory for him. "And I don't think Hulk can smash the tiny little viruses or whatever that's causing this."

She looked over at him with a small smile that was both hopeful and doubtful. "So you think you can save the world?"

He looked away slightly embarrassed. While he wanted to help, he never viewed himself as a savior or anything on par with an Avenger. "I certainly hope I can do something." He muttered.

"I hope so too." She noted the way he seemed uncomfortable as though he wasn't used to discussing his work with non-secret agency people, so she observed "You sound like you're a long way from home."

"Scotland." He nodded. He hated it when people called him British because to him they were like night and day. Not that he ever had anything against Simmons or her homeland, but England certainly wasn't Scotland and the two were not interchangeable. "Do you live here?" Although he could determine she had a southern accent, it could have been from anywhere in the southeast and maybe she felt the same as he did when it came to states. Texas probably wasn't the same as Alabama, although he couldn't recall being to either.

"Yeah. You know I've never left Georgia?" She asked quizzically. "The world is such a big place and I never left the state to see any of it."

He really couldn't imagine it. Even if he had never joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to see the world as Simmons assured him he would, he still couldn't fathom never leaving Scotland even for a quick visit to somewhere else and it wasn't exactly as if he was the lord of the manor growing up either. Still, he tried to curb his surprise because the woman's travel plans had probably been severely disrupted by the outbreak and need to constantly run for her life. "Well, it's not all bad. The countryside seems nice and I heard you have nice peaches." He said weakly. When he realized his accidental double entendre, he quickly corrected, "I mean not your particular peaches, but I'm sure you could grow some lovely ones if you wanted to. Peaches, fruit, I mean…I um…" She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle and he sighed while he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Any way we could forget I said anything at all?" He asked as his ears and cheeks flushed hot pink.

"Sure." She nodded graciously. There was something endearingly awkward about him that made it difficult to be insulted by his unintentional innuendo. "I'm Maggie, by the way."

"And I'm a bloody idiot." He sighed heavily.

She gave him a playful pat on the hand and suggested "You're an engineer, right? You can't be all that dumb. We'll just blame it on blood loss and sleep deprivation. Speaking of, how's your shoulder?"

"Fine." He lied. He was getting a little too practiced at the habit, but he didn't want to make her feel bad. She had literally nothing to work with but the shirt he brought with him, so he really had no right to complain about the shoddy workmanship which no doubt left the wound untreated and very likely infected. Simmons would never let him hear the end of it.

Almost reading his thoughts, she said "I'm sorry I couldn't do better, but we ran out of supplies weeks ago. We've been stayin' on the move, but we haven't come across anything yet."

"It's fine and I'm grateful, really I am." He tried to convince her. "It was very kind of Daryl to save my life when he didn't even know me. Honestly, I didn't think the thing could move so fast. I thought I had plenty of time…"

She watched the darkness fall over his face as he mentally relived the event and she knew from experience it was never a pleasant memory. "They move slow, but they can sneak up if they sense a meal." It wasn't his fault he didn't know, but he was incredibly lucky Daryl was in the area. She wasn't at all surprised he saved him because for all his gruff bravado, he was probably the most tender hearted person in the group. The angel wings on the back of his vest weren't just for decoration.

"What do they eat?" He asked as if he half already suspected the answer.

"You, if they can get their hands on you." She responded in a flat tone. "The only way to put them down is to destroy the brain."

"What. The. Hell?" He asked horrified. "They don't sleep and they don't stop movin' until they suck ya' down like the last pint at closing time or you bash their head in? Those are your options?!" If that were the case, he would have never had a chance because that's not the first thing he would have thought of. Ward or May might have, but not him.

"Pretty much." She shrugged. "That's why you don't survive on your own. You can't and a lot of people don't even if they find a group."

He glanced around the room at the sleeping figures and remembered Rick called them his family. Now his paranoia made much more sense. With so much death all around, it would only be natural to cling desperately to others as a matter of survival. After all, Fitz himself knew family was who you made it and he imagined he would feel the same way about his teammates.

"So you pack 'round the country lookin' for any way you can to make it, every day fighting walkers and foraging for food and shelter." He summed bleakly. He felt ever more grateful that throughout the outbreak he had a safe space on the bus. He had a quiet bunk, ample food, clean clothes, and he spent a lot of time high in the sky where he was immune to such things. He simply had no idea how bad it was and he doubted anyone at HQ did. Or if they did it was classified and purposely withheld to prevent mass panic.

"We've all lost a lot of people, but we have to keep on. If you stop, you die. If you're lucky you find a good group like ours. I know Rick probably came off a bit wrong, but he's doin' the best he can. Daryl keeps us safe and hunts for food, and Carol is getting better with weapons." She paused to look at the grey haired woman. "Don't let her fool you. She seems sweet and she is, but she'll put you down in a minute if she thinks she has to."

"It's always the quiet ones they say." He nodded eagerly. "And him?" He asked nodding toward the Asian man.

A genuinely warm smile crossed her face as she watched him sleep. "Glen's been with Rick from the start. He reminds me of what life used to be like before all this. There was a time when bein' with a person made you happy and you planned your life out because the future was always going to be there to happen. I still feel that sometimes when I look at him." After a short time she turned her attention back and asked, "You got any people, Fitz?"

"People?" He asked confused. "I um…I don't think I'm important enough to have people yet. I work in a lab…"

"No," she laughed playfully, "I mean family, significant others, people you're close to. Your people."

"Ah." He nodded with better understanding. "Well, my mum lives in Glasgow but that's about it really." Of course there may have been more whom he considered to be his 'people' but he didn't know her purpose for asking and thought it better to keep their identities concealed. More of the world may now know of S.H.I.E.L.D, but that didn't mean he had to go spilling his guts about it.

"No wife or girlfriend?" She asked curiously. "Or maybe boyfriend?"

He blushed slightly and opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to determine her intent. "Um…I um…well, no. Not exactly." Just to cover his tracks should she be having a go at him, he added, "But ya' know I can't really be bothered because of what I do. Can't very well have someone sittin' and waiting for you at home wondering why ya' never ring and you're off all over the world. Loads of missed birthdays and anniversaries and all that." Truth was, he had never had a girlfriend even before he took his job. He was always so busy with his studies and projects and no one particularly showed any interest anyway. At least no one so obvious he would have noticed…

"Still, you should call your mother and tell her you love her. You never know when you'll want to, but won't get another chance." She said with a somber smile. "Promise me you'll call her when you can. Life's too short to keep things like that from the people you care about, Fitz."

"Alright then." He agreed with a hesitant voice. It was one thing to be lectured to call you mother, but there was something very personal in her tone that suggested she had someone she very much wanted to say goodbye to but never had the chance and she was trying to save him from the crushing guilt she carried with her.

He in fact hadn't spoken to his mother in some time and the more he lay on the rough wooden floor of the barn while the storm around him howled, the more he wondered how she was. He knew she probably worried about him like all mothers do and because of this he never actually told her who he really worked for to spare her the sleepless nights. She thought he toiled away in a lab at a large multi-national corporation and in a way he did, but it wasn't the whole truth. His lab was usually 30,000 feet in the air at any given time over land and sea. He didn't tell her because he didn't want her to fuss over him, but Maggie was right. At some point in his career he may be faced with a situation in which he knew there would be no return. While this may not have been the day, the day would come when he wouldn't have another chance to tell the people around him how he felt.

He sighed and resolved to call his mother as soon as he got back on the bus. He might even tell Simmons how much he enjoyed sharing lab space with her, but he would wait and play that bit by ear. The last thing he wanted was to make things between them weird. Sometimes it might be better to keep things to himself.


	6. This Isn't Goodbye

**Chapter 6- This Isn't Goodbye**

The sun shone bright through the grimy window, but Fitz was the only one in the room who didn't notice despite a bright ray illuminating his pale face.

"He's burnin' up." Maggie said in a worried tone as she wiped away the thin sheen of sweat that covered his forehead. "He's been out like a light for a few hours now."

Carol folded her arms across her chest and looked down at him with a frown. "He's shivering too. That's not good, Rick."

For his part, Rick did feel sorry for him in a way. He didn't think stepping on his wound had much to do with the present situation, but in the end he seemed like an alright guy. He may not have been entirely truthful, but he supposed he had his reasons. Everyone did. "We can't take him." He said dispassionately. "You all know we can't."

Glen looked distressed as he shook his head in disbelief. "We can't just leave him here. He'll die."

"He might." Rick conceded in a matter of fact tone. "We have to meet up with the rest of the group soon and we can't drag him along. We don't have the time or the resources."

"Can't we just give him one more day?" Maggie pleaded.

"For what?" Rick asked sympathetically. He didn't want the kid to die, but he had to be realistic about the situation. He had long ago lost the luxury of sentimentality. "He's not going to get better in a day, at least not enough to keep up and most likely he'll go the other way."

"He's right." Fitz mumbled while his eyes fluttered open against the blinding light. He understood the utilitarian position of saving the group over him and he couldn't blame Rick. With such limited resources he would only slow their progress and put them all at greater risk. They weren't his people, they owed him nothing.

Maggie tried to comfort him by placing a hand on his trembling arm. "Fitz." It was pathetic the way he seemed to just placidly accept his fate. It seemed all too easy for him and it made her feel complicit in his slow doom sort of like drowning a puppy.

"It's ok, though." He assured her as he struggled to sit up. His head swam and he felt sick, but his face was determined as he seized his drone. "Just give me 20 minutes." His head felt so thick and foggy, but he knew he could do it even if it took much longer than it usually did to work through a problem.

"To do what?" Carol asked watching with interest.

Fitz blinked his eyes rapidly to force them to focus as he removed the blades of the machine and began disassembling the main unit. It was a good thing he was very familiar with the design and he could work with a combination of touch and mental imagery because his vision kept going fuzzy periodically. "If there's any possibility that time could at all be quiet I may only need 16 or so." He said testily.

Daryl shrugged and rested his crossbow against his shoulder. "Fine by me. I like it that way."

Fitz wiped his forehead with his sleeve to prevent salt laden sweat from dripping into the delicate core circuitry for fear it may cause premature corrosion and instead used what little saliva he had left to clean the crusted blood from the wires and connections with his trembling fingers. Obviously distilled water and a sterile cotton swab would have been best, but if he had those things the sensible thing to do would have been to properly clean his own wound and drink whatever was left. He tried not to think about how desperately hungry and thirsty he was and rewired some of the circuits and connected the final wire, making sure the blue indicator lights on the exterior housing blinked to indicate it was again operational before reassembling it all and handing the unit to Maggie.

She took it and looked it over perplexed. "Fitz, I don't understand." She admitted.

He took a deep breath and tried to explain as simply as he could. "It's ok because my people will come lookin' for me if they haven't already. You need to go and that's ok. They'll find me." He glanced at Rick who had stopped his infernal pacing to stare at him knowingly. "M' sorry I didn't tell you before, but they're no harm to you. Of course I didn't bloody pop out of nowhere." He scoffed. "While it's theoretically possible, teleportation hasn't been worked out yet." He blinked slowly as his mind wandered and he declared, "But I bet I could make it work…"

"But what does the machine do?" Glen asked quietly trying to bring his attention back to the present. He still didn't want to leave the guy behind. He had done that before with Jim and he never forgot it.

"Keep it." Fitz instructed. "It has a high density aluminum ion battery with a carbon foam cathode and ultra-dry electrolyte."

Rick shook his head. "Is he delirious?" He asked no one in particular. "Sounds like ramblin' to me."

"It's not madness, it's science!" Fitz defended hotly. He had to be even simpler- perhaps like talking to a five year old child. "It emits a low frequency signal and because of the type of battery it has, it will last a very long time. I disabled a lot of the functions so it'll last a lot longer." He sniffed miserably and leaned his head back against the wall. In a smaller voice he added, "When we work out a cure, I want to be able to find you again. You lot should be among the first to get it."

Maggie tried not to cry, but it was such a precious and perhaps futile gesture from a man who by all accounts was dying. "Why us?"

Fitz looked away, but didn't hesitate despite his natural inclination. "Life's short, yeah?"

"But you don't even know us." She sighed, turning the small black gadget over and over in her hands. Of course a cure sounded promising, but she didn't believe it would ever come. At least not from him.

"Yeah, well I guess I don't need forever to figure out who my people should be." He said quietly so the others couldn't hear. It felt so unnatural for him to wear his heart on his sleeve, but it also felt strangely right. Terrifying, but right. He had every intention of seeing them again, but deep down he knew there was a chance he might not. Today might have been the day after all.

She smiled sadly and gave his arm a small squeeze because she couldn't find the words to say and even if she did, she wouldn't have been able to get them out. Like Glen, he reminded her of what life was like before; a time when people still believed everything would be ok and generally it was. But things were different now and they were rarely ever ok. In fact, nothing would ever be ok again and it was like watching that special world die in front of her all over again.

Rick cleared his throat as he once more fished Fitz's access badge out of his pocket and quietly handed it back. He knew what would happen once they left him. He would die and turn just like the others. Because he knew this, he also removed a black semi-automatic pistol from his waistband and gave it to him as well. He didn't think he needed to say it, or more precisely didn't want to say it, but he did anyway. "Save at least one if you have to."

Fitz seemed confused as he let the gun rest heavily in his lap. A tear ran down Maggie's face as she clipped his badge on his sweater for him. Glen looked away uncomfortably and Daryl simply abruptly turned and left with a disgusted look on his face. "Why?" He asked a little frightened.

"So your people know who you are if you either have to kill yourself or you become one of them." Carol explained in a soft yet matter of fact tone.

Fitz licked his parched lips and nodded in grim understanding. They were leaving him and once he was alone, he was at the mercy of fate. It was clear they didn't expect him to live much longer and this was goodbye. "I don't want to become one of them." He declared in a shaky voice. "I'm not afraid of death, but if I have to die I don't want to come back like that." He always wanted to help others, not spread disease and death by his very presence. Carol said they weren't people anymore, but what if after he turned he still had some semblance of his humanity and couldn't stop himself from tearing apart others and eating them? That alone was a particular hell he couldn't live with. He never agreed with suicide and thought people who had taken their own lives were selfish, but he would much rather die by his own hand and simply blink out existence forever than live as a walker, if it could even be called living.

"Remember, one to the head." Maggie calmly instructed. "Do that and you won't come back." She wiped another tear from her cheek and added, "I promise."

"We can barricade the door to buy you more time." Rick offered. "But you can help yourself by not makin' any unnecessary noises and don't fire your gun unless you have no other choice. The noise will draw in more."

"Alright, but can we all just agree not to do the whole goodbye thing? Because it's not like that." He requested looking at the floor miserably. "No point in it, really."

"Ok." Maggie said simply as she stood to go. Glen held up the drone to show he had it and intended to keep it on his journey as instructed while Carol gave him a small nod and a warm smile.

Rick had to admire the kid's enduring hope in the face of almost certain death. After the others had left he braced the door with the wooden plank that rested in horizontal steel brackets and for good measure used a few more loose boards to wedge in as extra supports. He easily climbed through the dirty window and took one last look before sliding it shut. "At another time, then." He preferred it to be in this life, although it may have to be the next if there was one. Had the time and circumstances been different he might have considered letting him into the group, but he wasn't one to look back once he made a decision because it was never easy and usually too painful.

Fitz laid his head back and closed his eyes, listening for as long as he could to the sound of the grass as it gently parted for them while they got further and further away. Soon he heard nothing but silence and he felt utterly alone and afraid.

He wanted to believe someone was looking for him and he knew they would. Even if they thought he was dead it was company policy to retrieve the body, but how long would they go on looking before they gave up? What would they tell his mother if they never found his body?

He jumped when he heard a loud bang on the side of the barn and low growling, the way a rabid dog sounds as it slowly goes mad. He knew it was a walker, but he wondered how it managed to find him. He had been quiet as a dormouse and he didn't think it saw him through the window. Glen mentioned something about them smelling blood and he hoped he wasn't giving off a scent that made him as tantalizing as a buffet. Maybe like snakes they had some sort of infrared capabilities and they saw his heat signature through the wooden walls…

The banging was incessant, but at least part of it was the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest and blood rushing in his ears while the fight or flight fear response took hold of his body. He closed his eyes which were blurry anyway and tried to calm himself by breathing in through his nose and out his mouth until he noticed the thumping outside had stopped. As his heart rate slowed and his blood pressure returned to normal, he instantly felt drained and incredibly weak. He wanted nothing more than to just lie down and sleep, but he was simply too afraid.

He wasn't really afraid of the monsters outside because Rick had done an excellent job of constructing his barricade from an engineering standpoint, but he was fearful of the prospect that he might go to sleep and wake up a walker before he could stop himself. Now more than ever he needed Simmons. He needed her to examine him and be honest with him if he was truly dying so he could make an informed decision on how he wanted his life to end. If his body just needed sleep to repair itself he was more than glad to do it, but he didn't know if the overwhelming imperative he felt was just a biological reflex or the beginning of something more permanent. He was not the medical expert Simmons was, but even he knew with infection there came a time when a person was no longer able to think clearly. Being mentally incapacitated until his natural death and therefore unable to follow through with his plan would be just as bad as dying in his sleep.

Not knowing what to do, he released the safety switch and wrapped his hand around the gun, resting it in his lap to be at the ready no matter which outcome was to be, hoping that he had just a split second to act without hesitation if he had to.


	7. Trading Horses

**Chapter 7- Trading Horses**

Ward had been traversing the fields back and forth in a grid pattern since the first rays of daylight broke the sky. The heavy rain and winds during the night had all but erased any clues that might have been helpful in locating Fitz, but he was undaunted. It certainly made the job harder, but not impossible. It was only 10:00am but already he had been marching at a steady clip for almost four hours. So far all he had scared up was some nesting birds, a few rabbits, and a cat.

His legs ached from wading through the waist high crops and grass on uneven ground and the humid air was stifling. He took one last look around before deciding to take a quick break to rehydrate and hopefully let his body temperature lower a bit. He wanted to find Fitz, but it wouldn't do either of them any good if he keeled over with heat stroke while searching.

He laid down in the wet red clay soil predominant in the area and smeared some on his face and exposed arms to expedite the cooling process. Clay was an excellent sunblock and bug repellent and in an emergency it could even be eaten to relieve diarrhea or to filter water to drink. When it came to survival, Fitz was almost in the Garden of Eden but Ward doubted he knew this. While it was surprisingly comfortable to lay there and almost tempting to fall asleep after he had bent a patch of tall grass over him for extra shade, he knew he had to remain alert. He hadn't run across any of the monsters all morning, but he knew they were out there. He slowly but steadily sipped water from his bottle and tried to conserve energy while remaining hypervigilant to every sound that drifted across the field.

His eyes flew open when he detected a steady pattern of swishing like several people walking through a nearby field. It was far away and moving away from him, but the speed of motion seemed much faster than the monsters were able to travel. While they moved in a shuffling, almost random manner this was direct, swift, and purposeful. That could only mean there were other living people in the area. If Fitz wasn't with them, maybe they knew where he was or they may have spotted him. Still, he didn't know them and that made them dangerous. If what little bit he witnessed on the road was any indication of their daily existence, he could imagine they may be less than friendly.

He stealthily made his way to the nearby woods to circle around for better cover. In the middle of a green field, a six foot plus tall man dressed in black tactical gear would stick out like a neon sign on the moon, so he crept along the tree line always maintaining a healthy distance yet observing the group. He noted what appeared to be three men, one of whom was armed with a crossbow slung across his shoulder and another with a gun resting in a holster at his hip as well as two women. He could only assume the rest were armed in some way as well.

"Ward," May's voice called with some measure of expediency, "I picked up a signal from Fitz's drone, but I see you're already following it. It's about a half-mile from your present location to the east."

"I see them." He whispered in a low tone. "Fitz isn't with them, though." He was almost glad he couldn't see the expression on Simmons' face, but he had a good idea of what it was.

"If they have his drone, they likely made some sort of contact with him. Might be worth pursuing." May suggested.

"Copy that." Ward nodded as he continued to edge closer to the group. Wearing black and being covered in mud made him much less likely to be seen in the shaded woods, but he was careful not to make too many loud noises by brushing through branches or stepping on sticks with a loud crack. The woods were full of living creatures so some natural noise was to be expected, but it shouldn't sound like an elephant ambling though. He watched and waited patiently because he knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.

"Hey guys, hold up for a minute." Glen called while he apologetically gestured towards the woods. "I have to go do some business."

"Hurry up." Daryl commanded. It looked like he hadn't showered in a decade and Ward had to respect him for that on some level. That was the sign of a man who could live in the wild on his own and do just fine.

As Glen made his way deep into the woods, he called back "Doesn't always work like that, man." An irregular diet sometimes made for irregular pit stops. It was just one more of the new realities that he had come to begrudgingly accept.

Ward silently followed and after a quarter of a mile he began to wonder just how much privacy the guy needed to do his business, but even a blind man could see the body of the black drone he casually tossed into the air like a ball as he walked. He pulled out his night-night gun and made no effort to silence it as he pulled the slide back to load a bullet in the chamber.

Glen heard the clicking sound and stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned to face the attacker with his hands up and a look of fear on his face he couldn't hide.

"Where is he?" Ward asked casually. He didn't want to come off as homicidal, but he did want to emphasize the point he had the upper hand while also modulating his tone to let the guy know he didn't intend to hurt him if he cooperated. It was a delicate balancing act to be sure. "You know who I'm talking about. Where is he?"

Glen swallowed hard and calmly said, "We tried." He felt awful about leaving Fitz to fend for himself, he really did. He even advocated for him as best he could but in the end he was outvoted.

His words came across the com for all to hear but they rang loudest in Jemma's ears. She felt the very Earth crumble beneath her as she hung her head and stifled a desperate scream. It sounded so final, so certain. They tried- and presumably failed. He might have died all alone and was forever gone and it was her fault. She didn't stop him and she couldn't save him, and she felt like she couldn't live with herself because of it.

The force of the man's words felt like a wrecking ball smashing into Ward, but he had a job to do. People died on missions all the time, it was part of the job and Fitz was an asset like anyone else. He had to think of him in impersonal terms because if he didn't he may not have had the restraint to prevent himself from just killing them all in retribution.

"You S.H.I.E.L.D. too?" Glen asked quietly, looking him over as if he already knew. "He said his people would come for him."

The man's tone wasn't at all mocking, which surprised Ward. It seemed like he was genuinely relieved to see him. "Where'd you get that?" He asked gesturing to the drone in the man's right hand with the barrel of his gun.

"Fitz gave it to us." He answered. "He said he wanted to be able to find us when you had a cure."

Ward narrowed his eyes in confusion. They knew Fitz's name, the agency, had his drone, and knew the purpose of his mission. He left them absolutely no reason not to kill him- he gave them everything they could possibly want. First Fitz ditched his tracker and then he gave away the only real means of finding him to a group of strangers. What the hell was he thinking? Fitz was no field agent but Ward didn't think he'd sing like a canary either.

"Drop it." Came a voice from behind him.

Ward slowly looked over his shoulder to see the crossbow guy with his weapon pointed at his head and an intense scowl on his face. He considered his options and thought compliance was the best way to go, so he brought his hands out to his shoulders and let the gun fall from his hand. "I didn't even hear you." He complimented. He was truly impressed.

"That's how it's supposed to work, ain't it?" Daryl asked in a deep drawl as he gestured for Glen to retrieve the gun. "So what's the story? You some kind of pervert or somethin'?"

Ward scowled and huffed, "Excuse me?" This was turning into Deliverance territory way faster than he was comfortable with.

"Well, you did follow a man out in the woods while he was off to do some personal business. That's pretty odd, wouldn't you say? Had some business of your own to do too?" He asked suspiciously.

"I do as a matter of fact." Ward declared turning toward him, still maintaining his non-threatening posture and tone as best he could. While he no doubt may have been able to neutralize them both, that wasn't what he was there for. Sometimes missions were run on diplomacy rather than total elimination, but he had to play his cards right and keep his options open. "I'm looking for someone I think you may have had contact with."

Daryl regarded him for a minute before deciding to believe him. "Alright then, let's go back and talk business." He invited while he gestured for him to walk back toward the group so Glen could wrap things up. "Less yappin' more steppin'." Daryl was a man who valued solitude and he found people generally talked a lot without really having anything to say. He figured the others could probably tolerate it better than he could.

Daryl and Ward walked in silence while he held his hands up like a prisoner the entire time. No doubt the rest of the team heard what was going on and wisely, they kept quiet because they knew he could handle himself and they couldn't risk the possibility of his captors hearing them talking in his ear. He finally came to a stop when the rest of the group came into sight.

Rick took one look at him and casually launched himself away from the tree he was leaning on as though he wasn't at all surprised by the turn of events. "Where's the others?" He asked in a knowing tone.

"There are none." Ward replied confidently. "It's just me."

Rick nodded with a smirk despite his irritation at the worn out ploy. "I'm gonna stop you there 'cause I've heard this one before." He reached up to the interloper's ear and pulled out the clear com mic with a quick yank before crushing it into the ground with his foot. "Who you talkin' to then if it's just you out here all by yourself?"

"Says he's part of that outfit the other boy was in." Daryl grumbled. It seemed plausible because despite being covered in mud, the guy looked like the epitome of health. People who lived like he and the others did stopped looking like they just left a cycling class sipping mineral water at the gym long ago.

"That right?" Rick asked looking him up and down with something like weary disgust. "He said you'd be out here." He did warn them, but Rick thought there would be more and further hoped to avoid running into them. If it ever came down to it, his side would be outgunned and no match for the agents, however many more there actually were. He was no maniac, he wanted to keep a low profile and avoid confrontation as much as possible but he certainly would defend himself even if the odds were not in his favor. What choice did he have?

"Where is he?" Ward asked in the best congenial tone he could muster. He didn't know if the com could still pick up anything that was being said, but he added, "I just want to recover his body. I have no interest in you or your group here. I came for him and that's all." In an even quieter tone he made one last appeal. "He was a good man and his family deserves a decent burial."

"He may not be dead." Maggie spoke up. "He might be, but we don't know. We did what we could for him but last we saw him he was still alive." She too felt guilty, but they gave him the best shot possible at survival. They did everything but stay with him, which maybe they should have done but in reality couldn't.

A new sense of urgency sparked in Ward's blood. "Where is he?" He asked again, this time with a little less patience. If there was even a small chance Fitz was still alive, he would take it.

Rick's eyes were absolutely stone cold hard. Maggie was right. Maybe the guy wasn't dead or maybe he was, but after all he had done so far to keep his group safe he may not even notice a little extra blood on his hands. "That depends." He responded with a raised eyebrow. "How do we know you won't call in your buddies and kill us after we tell you?"

Ward took one look at the group and realized he was holding a pretty solid bargaining chip. "You don't, but as a good faith gesture I'll offer you something you can use. In my back pocket I have a pack containing several doses of heavy antibiotics and painkillers. My guess is you don't have many medical supplies and something like that would be a lifesaver. All I ask is you give me one of each in case he's still alive and you can have the rest."

"We're keepin' that fancy gun we got off you too," Daryl informed him, "to replace the one we left with him."

Ward felt like he was being mugged and wanted to roll his eyes, but he was grateful they tried to give Fitz some provisions despite what little they apparently had for themselves. "Fine." He acquiesced. "But let me explain. It's not your typical firearm. It was specially designed by Fitz to use incapacitating but non-lethal ammunition." He fished around in his tactical pants and pulled out the blue dendrotoxin icers and handed them to Carol who had come to collect his offerings. He really hated to part with his night-night gun, but maybe this time Fitz could actually make one for him one ounce lighter as he previously requested. Not because it had to be, but simply out of retribution for putting him through this shake-down. At this rate he would be lucky to walk away with his underwear.

Carol opened the pouch and removed one syringe of each color and handed them to the tall man. There were several in the bag and would no doubt come in handy. Very often, just as in the wild, a person who became injured or weak was the one to be culled from the herd and the contents of the pack may just save a life.

"We good?" Ward asked with a squint. The leader of the group may have been something of a con artist, but there was also a clear trait of integrity. Some people are bad because they have to be and he certainly identified with that. "Now where is Fitz?"

Rick nodded and placed his hands on his hips because a deal was a deal. He hated to resort to extortion, but he had to do everything he could and take advantage of every opportunity he could because survival was a dirty and uncertain business. "There's a small barn about a mile and a half northwest of here. The doors are braced from the inside and he's alone with a gun." His usually steely eyes softened a bit as he looked to the ground. "One way or another you'll find what you came for."

Ward got the hint and felt a little disgusted that the man seemed completely indifferent about the life of someone who it seemed tried to help them as much as they did by giving them everything he had as well as a potential lifeline via a cure. Granted he was a bit more biased because he knew Fitz better than they did, but he would have thought any such gesture of cooperation or goodwill in this hellhole would be worth its weight in gold. He wasn't lying when he said Fitz was a good man. Painfully awkward and sometimes a little prickly perhaps, but he cared deeply about his job, his teammates, and apparently others in general.

He wanted nothing more than to retrieve the com from under Rick's foot, but he knew better than to push his luck. "One more thing," he said finally letting his aching arms drop to his sides, "how do I know you won't shoot me in the back as soon as I walk away?"

Rick casually tucked the night-night gun into the back of his waistband and flippantly replied "I guess you don't, do you?" Of course he wouldn't do such a thing. If he was going to kill a man he would do it face to face, but it was just one more assurance he could make use of that the man wouldn't be any further trouble to them.

"I'm no threat to you." Ward reasoned. "You have all the weapons."

"I doubt that." He squinted. He used to be a sheriff and he knew just by looking at the guy he was either ex-military or SWAT type, meaning he could make a weapon of any and everything including his bare hands. "All the same. I'll determine what's a threat and what's not." He leveled coolly. "Now if I was you, I wouldn't waste much time in thinkin' 'cause the longer you stand there debating, the less chance there is you'll find him alive. Either 'cause walkers got to him, he turned, or he put a bullet in his head."

Ward sighed heavily as he turned to go. At least now he knew what he was dealing with even if the odds were stacked against him. As he took off at a moderate jog across the field, the high grass tangling and ensnaring his legs as he tore through, Carol's voice called "Good luck!" It wasn't the typically blithe formal tone people most often used out of social custom, but it sounded sincere and it gave him just that little extra push to run as hard as he could.


	8. Finding Fitz

**Chapter 8- Finding Fitz**

Coulson winced as he watched Simmons fumble around in the lab. Although he was standing in plain view outside the lab's glass doors, she didn't seem to notice. He wanted to think she was just deep in concentration, but as he watched her drop her instruments and bump into things like a blind person he knew she was just plain distracted. She was trying to keep going like the good soldier she was with little sleep or hope, but in Fitz's absence it was like she was missing half of herself. The darkness that had fallen across her face and the intensity in her grim expression seemed so foreign to her usually sunny disposition and the dead silence from Ward's com over the past 20 minutes probably wasn't helping matters. He could understand how this seemed like her personal New York.

"Where are we?" May asked quietly as she approached. She knew it was probably too early for any new developments and it didn't take her long to realize from the expression on the director's face and Simmons' atypical clumsiness that any news probably wasn't going to be positive. Fitz was usually the less graceful one, but it seemed Simmons was trying to make up for his not being there and she was doing a bang up job of it.

"I didn't ask." He shrugged.

May watched with a blank expression and observed, "She probably thinks Fitz is dead. Maybe Ward too. She also probably thinks it's her fault."

"I'm sure she does." He agreed. "But I can't tell her they're not because I don't know that." Being director was no easy job and although he knew his agent's strengths and weaknesses very well, there was always the random element of chance over which he had no control. Although a pragmatist, he was a naturally optimistic person and he would continue to hold out hope his agents would return even if developments were infuriatingly slow and one hurdle after another obstacle cropped up and had to be dealt with. In the end he would prevail because he just didn't want to think about any other options until he had to.

"Fitz's drone is moving again." She informed him stoically. "And so is Ward's tracker, but they're going in opposite directions. His com's still dead though."

Coulson glanced over at his tough as nails deputy and smiled. "Well, that's something, right? Whatever went down out there it looks like Ward was able to get himself out of it."

May gave a slight shrug. "Maybe." If Coulson was an optimist, May was habitually a pessimist, but that was probably why they worked together so well. "So now that we're in the dark he can't signal us if he finds something or needs a pick-up. Want me to go down there?"

Coulson couldn't help but smirk at her matter of fact tone that suggested she felt she was tired of watching the kids play and could clear up the whole matter in 10 minutes if he gave her the go-ahead. It was funny because she was probably right. "I'm going." He declared heading toward his office to change into something a little more adventurous. "I need you here to drive the bus and pick us up when school's out." Not one muscle in her face twitched, but he knew she wasn't happy with his decision. "I'm going to get the SUV Ward left and catch up to him. I'll need you to get us." It was an expensive vehicle with lots of advanced tech that shouldn't be left lying around if at all possible and he knew Fury wouldn't put up with many more surprise bills that equaled the GDP of some small countries.

Their current location was on the tarmac of what used to be Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson airport some 30 miles from Ward's location and that just wouldn't do, although it was otherwise strategically perfect as they had a clear view in all directions, the perimeter was fenced in, and they had access to jet fuel. There were holes in some spots where people slipped through to raid the massive complex of whatever they felt may be useful to aid in their survival, but structurally it seemed to hold. In the early days of the outbreak Coulson heard of people living in government facilities like airports or military bases, but since that time and as the disease spread survivors tended to scatter into outlying areas once they figured out high density locations were hot zones. The airport was now tattered and ghostly just like the dead that seemed to congregate in the downtown area. The rows and rows of empty seats in abandoned terminals waiting for people who had already departed and may never return.

Ward's lungs and legs burned white hot with effort, but he paused at the top of a small hill looking down over a small barn just where the man said it would be about a quarter mile ahead in a shallow valley. He was right about that and they didn't shoot him in the back, so all in all there seemed to be at least some modicum of honor among thieves. While he sucked in huge amounts of air to replenish his muscles and wiped away the sweat that streamed into his eyes he got a sinking feeling.

He had largely been lucky all day in avoiding the monsters, but he did come in distant proximity to a few while he was running. They were more than easily avoided out in the open fields where they often got tangled up and fell and overall they were slow and lumbering, but he knew his luck had run out as soon as he arrived. The barn was surrounded by at least four rotting bodies, each banging and clawing desperately at the structure as though they could sense someone inside. He had no weapons, Fitz was surrounded, and they were both in a lot of trouble. Normally he would have taken the time to come up with some sort of plan, but he found himself racing toward the barn at breakneck speed when he heard a single gunshot. "Fitz!" He yelled with everything in him. He had come too close to even think about the notion that with help only a minute away he had given up and committed suicide.

Fitz's eyes shot open and he jerked upright from where he had slumped over, either passed out or asleep he wasn't sure. He glanced over to his right hand and carefully unlaced his finger from the trigger before another round of shivers or involuntary jerks caused him to accidently fire the gun again. He was incredibly lucky in the sense he didn't shoot himself, but Rick warned him the noise would draw walkers and he could hear them outside, groaning and scratching their splintered fingernails against the wood.

He wasn't afraid of them anymore; he didn't have the strength to care. It felt like he had become molecularly bonded to the floor and the strange sense of oneness with his surroundings sort of bothered him. It was calming in a way to know that he had a place in the universe and shared an elemental connection to the substances around him, but he was pretty sure that was a sign of him dying sort of like how a person feels warm and content even though they are freezing to death of hypothermia.

It was then that he heard it. "Fitz!" It sounded sort of far away and a little like Ward. Fitz found it ironic Ward would be the person he would hallucinate at the very end of his life. He always assumed it would be Jemma or his mother, but he supposed it would be fitting he was yelling at him and generally being a wanker.

"Fitz!" Ward yelled again as he got closer even though the monsters now turned their attention to him. "Fitz, you in there? Fitz!"

"Ward?" Fitz called in a confused tone as he suddenly felt a jolt of renewed vigor and struggled to get to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and nearly blacked out, but he forced himself to stay with it. Help had finally arrived and a wave of relief washed over him, yet as usual that wasn't the way it came out. "Took ya' long enough. I almost died in here!"

Ward almost couldn't believe his audacity. "Well, I might die out here so open the damn door!" He commanded as he deftly danced around and dodged the monsters who tried to grab him.

"I can't." Fitz admitted miserably even though he tried to pull and kick at the boards Rick had done a fine job of wedging tightly against the door as though he were expecting a tank to come crashing through. He just didn't have the physical strength or enough adrenaline left in his body. "You'll have to come around to the window." He instructed.

"There's an awful lot of them, Fitz." Ward warned. "I don't have time to come climbing in your window like a boyfriend after midnight."

While he got the urgency of the situation, he just couldn't hide his irritation with the comparison. "I can't promise ya' I'll go all the way tonight, but I might give ya' a little kiss for tryin'." He said sarcastically before getting back to business. "You'll have to kill them then, but don't shoot your gun. The noise will bring more."

"I don't have a gun!" He growled kicking at a dead woman who managed to grab onto his arm. She was so rotted her arm and leg both nearly tore loose from her body, but she didn't seem deterred in the least. "How the hell do I kill them?!" He asked horrified.

"Ya' have to destroy the brain." Fitz responded leaning up against the door between the supports. His body felt like a discharged battery struggling to power his brain for just a few seconds more. "And don't let them bite. I think that's how the disease gets around."

Ward felt the advice was sound enough and although he probably wouldn't let anyone bite him during a fight, the monsters seemed particularly driven to do just that. He fended off the small group with some evasive maneuvers and basic hand-to-hand combat techniques until he was able to find a good sized rock nearby. It would be direct and brutal, but ultimately effective. One by one he bashed their heads in until he was covered in blood and bits of flesh. It wasn't something he was entirely comfortable with especially because of Simmons' warning, but he had no other choice.

After he had slain the last monster, he heard another nearby. He turned and readied himself to deliver another death blow to the young man who shambled in his general direction. The kid looked like he couldn't have been more than 16, his blondish hair mangy and deteriorated flesh barely clinging to his bones as he tripped and stumbled his way forward with twisted limbs. His milky eyes looked in Ward's direction, although he didn't seem to see him in any real sense. When the boy got within striking distance, mysteriously he stopped to regard Ward with whatever the dead equivalent of indifference was before ambling off in another direction.

Ward watched him closely and tried to make sense of it as he dropped his rock and made his way to the grimy window. He slid it open and easily climbed through to see the expression on Fitz's face and it wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

He was curled up into the tightest crouched position he could manage leaning up against the door, yet his face was nearly expressionless save for a slight hint of disgust at the sight of him. "What the hell?" He asked in a low tone while his fidgety fingers belied his anxiety. Ward looked like the pit boss of an abattoir and he smelled ten times worse even from across the room. If that type of thing was going on out there he wasn't so sure he wanted to leave after all. The barn seemed like a fine enough place to die.

Ward raised his eyebrow with total lack of surprise and smiled. "Nice to see you too, Fitz. Now how about that kiss?"

"I um…" He stammered quietly with a dark expression on his face, "I'm not really up to it just now." Joking was fine and all, but the very sight and smell of Ward was bringing back some very unpleasant memories and he wanted desperately to avoid them. He looked and smelled just like _them_ and now he was alone with him in the same room…so close…just like before...

Sensing the mood had abruptly shifted, Ward cautiously asked "You ok, Fitz?" In a way he got it because his soiled clothing offended even him, but it wasn't like he killed them for the hell of it. He did what had to be done and he couldn't understand why Fitz would hold it against him like he just clubbed a bunch of baby seals to death.

"Yeah, I'm fine then. It's just…um…if you could just stay over there…" He was desperately trying to keep it together despite the rising sense of doom and fear he felt. As long as he stayed away from him he might be ok, but if he came any closer he wasn't sure he could handle it. He knew it was irrational and he hated the fact he couldn't control it, but he couldn't help it. Everything in him screamed at him to run, to get away, but he was helplessly frozen to his spot and trying not to blackout.

Ward regarded him for a minute, trying to think of how he should approach the situation. Curled up as he was he looked like a terrified wounded animal and while he could understand that on some level, the danger had passed and he should have been able to relax with someone knew which suggested there was something more to the story. "Did you get bitten?" He asked softly. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Why else would he be acting that way unless he thought he was infected?

"No." He shook his head as though he was trying to snap himself back into the present from some distant place, but he still avoided eye contact least he lose what precious bit of sanity he was able to reclaim from the terror he felt. "You?"

"No." He might not have been bitten but it wasn't hard to guess Fitz had been hurt in some way because he was shirtless under his sweater and there was a wad of cloth deforming the left shoulder area. He had never seen Fitz shirtless so he could only imagine the circumstances were dire for him to ditch it and besides, Simmons confirmed he had been bleeding in the clearing. "What happened to your shoulder?"

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly while he waited for the buzzing in his head to stop. Thankfully whatever it was that possessed him seemed to be subsiding. He eventually swallowed dryly and mumbled "I got shot." It normally would have sounded pretty badass for an engineer, but he didn't feel he had to impress Ward or anyone anymore. He wasn't sure anything he ever did could.

Ward grinned and asked, "Hurts like hell, doesn't it?" He and Fitz never really had any commonalities, but now it seemed they did oddly enough. He wanted to tease him by asking if he had shot himself, but he didn't want to lose the good momentum he had going by suggesting he was either desperate for attention or stupid.

"Stings a bit, yeah." Fitz smirked despite himself. Ok, so it was a little badass of him.

Ward fished through his pockets for the syringes and nearly panicked when he couldn't find the needles. He checked every pocket but they were gone. His heart sank when he realized they must have fallen out either while he was running or when he was fighting with the monsters, but he spotted the gun Fitz discarded on the floor and had an idea. He removed the clip and round from the chamber before replacing it with the last icer bullet he had. He may have made a deal, but he was no idiot and he wasn't about to give the group every last bit of pocket lint. But with Fitz all curled up tight like a hedgehog the only exposed parts of his body were his head and shins, neither of which being particularly helpful. "Stand up, Fitz." He sighed with a heavy heart.

Fitz's blue eyes looked up at him innocently and he instead seemed to sense the impending danger and protectively drew his legs in tighter. He noticed Ward was playing around with the gun, but that's the sort of thing he always did to look cool so he didn't think much of it until right then. "I've already been shot once and I don't care to have another go at it." He said defensively. "Why do all your brilliant plans always involve me losing a body part or getting shot? Can't you think of any other equally helpful but much less violent solutions?!"

"I had some drugs for you, but I lost them, ok? Now I have to do the only thing I can." He patiently explained.

"What? Kill me?" He howled. "It's a pretty big cover up for such a small mistake, don't ya' think?!"

"Stop being so dramatic and stand up already."

"I see." Fitz nodded as he slowly unfurled his legs and wobbled to his feet. He thought Ward was there to save him, but apparently the team thought he'd been contaminated and he was sent to kill him instead. "You're givin' me the chance to die like a man. While I appreciate it, I'll be sure to fall face first so you can kiss my arse before I die."

Ward shook his head slightly at his sarcasm all the way to the end and pulled the trigger, striking him in the abdomen just below the left side of his ribcage. Although significantly more painful, the dendrotoxin could enter the bloodstream much more quickly though soft tissue than a denser area packed with muscle and bone. He wasn't a scientist, but he knew enough functional anatomy to get by when it mattered.

"Shite!" He gasped as he doubled over with a howl. "For a marksman you are a right terrible shot!" While he collapsed to the floor his vision got fuzzy and he felt an undeniable pull into the deep darkness of unconsciousness he couldn't fight. He wanted to tell him to finish the job, to shoot him again in the head so he wouldn't become a walker, but his lips were frozen and with the last of his cognitive awareness he wondered what he had ever done to Ward that would make him want to inflict that sort of hellish eternal punishment on him. They were friends, right?

When he was sure Fitz was unconscious, Ward approached him and drug him out into the middle of the floor where he could stretch him out and make sure he was otherwise alright aside from the small subcutaneous hole and bruised tissue he had contributed. In some ways he justified it as making him more comfortable or at least unaware of his suffering, but in reality he knew there was no way Fitz was going to let him come any closer, whatever his reason. It wasn't like Fitz would have been able to hike a mile and a half back to try to find the com so the next best thing was to render him unconscious so as to conserve as much of his energy as possible and hope Simmons could take it from there.

He knew he had to signal the bus for an immediate extraction and he briefly considered the prospect of leaving him there to go back for the com, but he simply couldn't. While leaving someone like Fitz alone to defend himself was cruel enough, at least the people in the group left him awake and with a gun. Now he was completely defenseless and would be an easy meal if any more monsters came by and managed to get in. The only consolation he could take solace in was has knowing at least he wouldn't feel a thing.


	9. Home Sweet Home

**Chapter 9- Home Sweet Home**

Coulson barreled through the fields like a rampaging rhino in the SUV. In a way it was fun because it was consequence free wanton destruction, but it was also expedient. What he witnessed in the short distance from the drop site to the SUV was not exactly his idea of fun, but he certainly did get a workout while he ran and jumped over cars and around bodies both dead and alive like he was in some crazy 5k obstacle race for his life.

Once he reached the vehicle he made the tactical decision to go off roading and Simmons was right, it was considerably easier. The road was simply a choked bottle neck that was nearly unusable and it took some doing to find a wide enough break in the trees that lined the road to gain access to the fields. From there it was a more direct line to the signal from Ward's tracker and he tested every inch of Fitz's re-engineering of the stock model from the steering to the suspension to get there. Yes, he may have been making some noise against Simmons' advice, but he balanced this with the fact he was in a heavily armored motorized steel box and the monsters were not should they try to impede him. He wasn't a scientist but it was all pretty much basic physics in his mind.

As director he was privy to all manner of things that would make people's hair go grey if they knew what strange and dangerous things were out there all day every day, but this was beyond even his pay grade. Sure he knew fairly early on that there was some sort of disease that quietly cropped up here and there which seemed even more virulent than Ebola, but he was told it was the CDC's arena and not much more was said until seemingly overnight the isolated patches became a blanket and it became clear it was something far worse than anyone could have imagined. Even still, his dance schedule continued to be filled with civil unrests, minor 0-8-4's, and routine training which kept them out of the country for most of the time. While the hierarchical structure of SHIELD usually worked, this may have been one time in which more eyes and ears may have been helpful because by the time he got the call from Fury himself, it was already a pandemic. Of course he knew which way the wind was blowing a good two weeks before he officially gave FitzSimmons their orders, but again they were only Level 5 and in typical bureaucratic fashion it took awhile for the action to trickle down to their level from the ivory tower. He had every faith in their ability because they had worked together flawlessly under tremendous pressure before, but he thought it a shame he had to in a sense hamstring them by keeping developments from them which might have bought them precious time and saved countless lives.

As he left a wake of flattened farmland behind him he hoped Fitz wasn't one of those casualties. He was always the quiet behind the scenes guy whom everyone assumed was technically brilliant, but ultimately inept in the field. However, Coulson knew this wasn't the case. It was true Fitz wasn't a field agent and sometimes the nonsensical stream of scientific jargon and theory that flowed rapidly in a thick Scottish accent confused the hell out of everyone around him and his propensity for awkwardness or clumsiness made others doubt him, but Coulson knew that the very thing that made Fitz a genius in the lab was the very thing that would keep him alive in the field and that was his ability to think outside the box for a creative solution. He was the ace in the hole, the dark horse no one expected to be so wily when it came down to it, but time and again he proved to be brave and reliable when it mattered. As he came to a stop not more than 500 feet from Ward's signal he hoped he'd found another rabbit to pull out of his hat.

"Ward?" Coulson called, drawing his gun and surveying the area for any immediate threat as he approached a small barn littered with motionless bodies. As he got closer he noted a bloodied rock laying beside a pile of rotting corpses, each of whom recently had been relieved of their brain matter. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the stench as a swarm of black flies which had been feeding off the flesh buzzed around frantically before returning for more. Across the field he saw a veritable army of the undead slowly moving and converging on his location, no doubt drawn by the noise of the SUV crashing through the field.

He turned his attention to a small window at the side of the building when he heard it slide open and he watched with some curiosity as Fitz's upper body emerged followed by his lower limbs, executing the most lifeless summersault out a window he'd ever seen. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes in a mass of tangled limbs followed by Ward who managed the maneuver with the skill and control of someone who was fully conscious. He holstered his gun and started toward Ward to help him pick Fitz up, but smiled when he deftly scooped him up and casually tossed him over his shoulder like it was nothing. "Is he…?" He asked hopefully.

"He'll be fine, but the icer will wear off soon and I'm sure he won't be too happy with me for shooting him." Ward responded as he carried Fitz to the back of the SUV and placed him in the cargo area before taking a look around at the gathering horde. "I see you brought a crowd."

With a smirk, Coulson replied "I always bring the party."

Ward couldn't help but chuckle. Even in the middle of such dire circumstances Coulson never lost his cool. "I'll drive." He stated heading for the wheel. "He sort of freaked out last time he saw me and I don't want to do that again in close quarters."

Coulson climbed into the back with Fitz and nodded at Ward. "Smelling like that I see why. I'm a little freaked myself thinking how I'm going to get that blood and stench out of the interior." He quickly closed the rear hatch and pressed his com a little further into his ear as Ward gunned the engine, sending a spray of red clay splashing on the barn like earthen blood. "May, I've got them now tell us where to meet you."

"Sir!" Simmons breathlessly interrupted, "Is Fitz…" She was so hopeful yet so guarded. Just a minute ago she thought she'd lost her best friend forever and now he was with his team again. It was a dizzying turn of events, but she was still apprehensive.

"He's fine." Coulson yelped as his head hit the roof of the vehicle while it bucked and rocked. "Mostly. No need to go to emergency protocol, but he will need some support."

"Copy that. And Agent Ward?" She inquired.

"Nothing a good shower can't take care of….and maybe some bleach….I hope. May?" He called again as Fitz began to stir.

"Maintain your present course back to the main road and go about four miles north. On the left there will be a large industrial park with a nice, flat shipping yard. I'll be waiting." She responded while she flipped dozens of switches and levers in the cockpit readying the plane for takeoff.

"Four miles." Ward grumbled to himself. With the road clogged as it was, it might as well have been 4,000 and if it was even possible, the road was in worse condition than before. "Sir," he called as he came to a stop and placed both hands on the wheel, "the party just got bigger."

Coulson ducked slightly to look out the front windshield at the gauntlet that lie ahead. Although on this section of pavement there were few cars, what looked to be over a hundred dead people shuffled in some sort of mass migration. "What are they?" He asked slightly horrified. It was just such an unnatural sight he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"Walkers." Fitz slurred as he struggled to sit up to see what was going on around him, quite surprised he wasn't in fact dead. All in all he felt about the same as he had before, so he assumed he hadn't in fact become one of them. He could only imagine being dead like that would feel very different, although he wasn't quite sure how exactly. Even though his vison was somewhat blurry he knew he wasn't just seeing things and he gripped the back of the seat hard until his knuckles turned white. "Oh hell."

"Hang on." Ward warned. "We're about to test that armor, Fitz."

"What?" He asked wide eyed as it sank in. "Wait! Ward, what if they're still people? We can't just run them down!"

"This after you told me to smash their heads in?!" He cried. "Fitz, what side are you on?"

"I dunno, but…we…" He didn't have the chance to make his argument as the SUV suddenly lunged forward and bodies began bouncing off the vehicle with solid thuds, coating the widows with body fluids and bits of tissue. "My god, Ward!" He screamed as he was thrown around in the back with Coulson, "What the hell are you doing?!" The thought of ruthlessly plowing through a crowd of people causing serious injury was just too much for him, even if it was questionable whether or not they were in fact human. Fitz couldn't bring himself to see them as anything other than that until he had proof to the contrary and the wake of suffering they left in a bloody trail behind them made him sick.

"Settle down, Fitz." Coulson advised as he held on for dear life. It felt like being on a roller coaster ride without being strapped in.

"Settle down?" He howled helplessly. "I can't as long as I'm bouncin' about like a lotto ball in a death machine- that I built!"

"Fitz!" Coulson warned in a semi-stern voice, "Don't make me shoot you again."

"Oh, that's fantastic!" He winced as he came down hard on his left arm, sending a sharp pain shooting through his body. He clenched his teeth as he curled into the fetal position, cradling his throbbing arm as best he could to protect it from further damage while his head repeatedly bumped into the floor. "Now I see where Ward gets his brilliant ideas." He felt sick and dizzy, but the last thing he wanted to do was to vomit in his boss's proximity so he lay there on the floor quietly with his eyes closed and prayed they would soon reach their destination. He couldn't fight it, he couldn't argue his point, and he couldn't make Ward stop, so the best he could do was try to block it all out until the whole wretched experience was over.

Ward suddenly veered left when he spotted the wings of the bus protruding from behind an abandoned warehouse, sending Fitz crashing into Coulson. "May, we're home!" He called relieved as he pulled up the waiting ramp and into the bay at the back of the plane next to Lola.

"Hard day at the office?" She asked through the com with just a hint of levity in her voice as the ramp closed and the plane slowly rose from the ground.

"Aren't they all?" Coulson asked rhetorically while he tried to untangle himself from an obviously uncomfortable Fitz. "Simmons?"

"Here, sir." She answered as she opened the hatch of the vehicle along with Ward. She heaved a deep sigh of relief and smiled brightly at the sight of her friend looking quite pale and shaken but decidedly alive. "Fitz, did you need any help?"

She offered her hand to assist him out of the vehicle, but he pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. "I can manage it myself." He grumbled. The last thing he wanted was for anyone, but especially her, to view him as weak or in need of coddling. He knew he had to allow her to examine him and he was fine with that, but he also knew she would probably hover over him a bit more than if it were someone else. Deep down he knew it really had less to do with him than attempting to soothe her own unspoken anxiety which she always hid behind her smile, but it didn't make it any less irritating. He painfully found his way out of the back and took one last look at the blood dripping hull when he noticed a huge gash along the passenger's side. "What's this now?" He asked in disbelief. "The armor wasn't supposed to fail under those circumstances. I tested it again and again."

Sensing the wheels turning in his head, Simmons casually slipped her arm around his waist and looped his right arm over her shoulder to gently guide him away from the vexing scratch. "It's nothing, Fitz!" She promised in a cheery voice leading him toward the lab. "Now let's get you right again, shall we?" She knew he wouldn't simply forget about it, couldn't really, but she hoped to delay the inevitable for as long as possible for the sake of her own sanity. She walked alongside him at a slow pace and tried not to notice the fact he was stumbling along and putting quite a bit of weight on her, or that he was blinking his blue eyes rapidly like he was about to pass out. "Just a bit further," she encouraged him softly, "you're nearly there."

He fell onto the freezing cold metal exam table with a heavy sigh. His ears rang and black spots danced in front of his eyes, but he made it. The room was a haze of blurry white light but he knew exactly where he was and although he understood the rationale, being isolated in a medical containment bay was not his idea of comfort. Even so, he found himself relaxing and letting go, allowing Simmons to cut off his sweater and strap an oxygen mask to his face without protest. He trusted her implicitly and knew he was safe, home again, and that he left the horrors of the nightmare he endured behind. He would let her do what she needed to and he wouldn't fight, he didn't have the strength left to fight anything.

Simmons bit her lip and watched her friend blink lazily as small clouds of hot breath clouded his mask before dissipating over and over again. He looked so pale and listless under the harsh halogen lights, like a porcelain ragdoll. He had a fever and a very nasty looking wound through his shoulder and she hung her head. She couldn't bear to see him suffer so she took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. "Fitz," she called quietly while placing her hand on his arm to rouse his full attention, "I'm actually going to give you a sedative to help you sleep. I'll have to do a lot of debridement on your shoulder, it looks very infected and discolored. Perhaps it's best of you were unaware of things for a bit." He slowly nodded his consent and she watched his eyes flutter closed as she pushed the drug through an IV drip she started to rehydrate his body.

"Now," she sighed to herself as she strapped on a pair of goggles and gloves, reaching for her scalpel, "let's just gather a small tissue sample for analysis."


	10. Predictions and Probabilities

**Chapter 10- Predictions and Probabilities**

Daryl scanned the woods to his right and left as he slowly walked along the small dirt road they found with his crossbow slung over his shoulder but always at the ready. It was a paradox of sorts because while traveling along roads was generally safer because it allowed ample time to spot walkers and sometimes supplies could be found in abandoned cars that had not yet been looted or siphoned of gas, it was also a potential deathtrap for any less than friendly people who could easily pick them off from the cover of the woods. These days as supplies became scarce the living were almost more dangerous than the dead. He looked to the sky when he heard a low rumbling in the distance that seemed to get louder. "What the hell's that?"

"Sounds like a jet engine." Glen answered mystified. Just over the tree line near the horizon he spotted what looked like a large military aircraft gliding along. A small smile crept across his face as he added "I haven't seen an airplane fly in so long I forgot what it sounded like."

"It's probably SHIELD." Rick stated as he shaded his eyes from the sun to watch the spectacle. "We know Ft. Benning's been overrun so that can't be a military plane."

Maggie kept her eyes fixed to the sky until the plane dipped out of sight. "Do you think they found him?" She asked no one in particular.

"I'm sure they did." Carol responded again resuming her march down the road. "One way or another." She didn't have anything against Fitz and didn't wish him any harm, but the simple truth was he wasn't part of the group and she couldn't spend precious time fretting over him. While she wished him well, she wouldn't lose sleep if he didn't make it. People died all the time, why should he be any different?

After some time, Glen finally said what everyone was thinking. "I wish I was on that plane. I bet they have food and water." It was a miserable slog through the humid heat and they only had a small amount of drinkable water to share among them.

Maggie laughed desperately. "Even if they did, it's not like we can take it from them. If they have the resources to operate an airplane they can probably defend themselves pretty well."

Glen seemed slightly hurt she would assume he wanted to incite violence. "I never said we had to take it from them! Fitz seemed like a decent guy. He never asked us for anything and gave us his thingy when he didn't have to and the other guy gave us his gun. Maybe they would…I don't know…_share_?!" He asked sarcastically.

"That dude gave us the gun only 'cause he had to." Daryl scoffed incredulously. People weren't hospitable the way they used to be and the agent he got the drop on wasn't exactly giving them anything of his own free will.

"Everything comes at a price." Rick agreed. "Fact is, we don't know them. They say they're here to fix things, but we don't know that. All I know is we'd just best leave them be unless they come lookin' for us. Then we'll see about getting' what we can get."

"What if they really are here to try and stop this?" Glen asked quietly. "I mean, why else would they be here if not that?"

"Fitz did say they go all over the world and the walkers aren't everywhere." Maggie joined. "He could be anywhere but here if he really wanted to."

"Maybe they want to stop it and maybe they started it." Carol argued. "Rick's right, we don't know who they are. The kid was apparently some secret agent, why should we believe anything he said?"

"He did lie to us quite a few times." Rick reminded them. "And he didn't tell us they had a damn airplane stocked with god knows what kind of armament." He removed Ward's gun from his waistband and held it up for emphasis. "If they have more advanced stuff like this he conveniently didn't tell us about I have to start wonderin' how much of what he said we can believe."

"Yeah, we don't know him." Glen granted. "But he didn't know us either. He was probably just as suspicious of us as we are of him."

"Even if he was 100% honest about why he's here I think we can all safely say that at this point experience has taught us we can't look to others for help." Rick sighed as he wiped the sweat from his face. He was utterly exhausted but he knew he had to keep going- always. "Point is, we're on our own and we have to look after ourselves."

"I know, but I also just think it's smart not to close the door to potential help if we can get it." Glen always felt like he was on the wrong side of things, but he wasn't about to go quietly. He knew certain sacrifices had to be made in times of war and famine and really, that's what his life had become. But every time someone had to get screwed over or cheated just so he could live another day he lost another small part of himself. It was a slow death he was determined to fight against for as long as possible.

"Who said I was?" Rick asked with a raised eyebrow. "All I'm saying is we need to be careful because they're in a better position than us and that makes them dangerous. Until we know more about them, we should keep our distance."

After about a mile or so of silence, Daryl spoke up. "Supposin' they did somehow figure out how to fix all this." He made a sweeping gesture to the surrounding landscape. "What if suddenly it was all over?" For him it was all about the same. It wasn't like he was exactly living the life of the rich and famous before it all went down, but he knew the others probably at least had something like a comfortable life they wanted to return to.

Carol chuckled lightly. "I imagine it would be pretty hard to just go back to our lives the way it was before. Things like reading the mail and walking the dog seem so frivolous now."

"I don't know that it will ever be the same." Maggie shrugged. "Maybe 100 years from now when no one who lived through this is alive and people have forgotten it even happened, things could go back to the way they were."

Rick wanted to share their optimism but as humans are prone to do, he adjusted to the new reality. In the beginning he always hoped for the day when word spread the disease was contained and everyone could go back to living as they always had, but these days he didn't think much about his past because with each passing day it seemed more and more like a fairy tale rather than his own experience. He didn't think too far into the future either because there was no guarantee he would survive each day, but he kept moving. He had to.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Simmons yawned and rubbed her eyes vigorously. She had been bent over her microscope for a full hour, searching for anything which may help her unravel the riddle until the tiny structures in her view began to all blur together. During the past 48 hours she had subsisted on tea, brief naps, and pure adrenaline and it was starting to take its toll.

"Agent Simmons," Coulson called from the entry to the lab with a knowing smile, "how are things?" He admired her pluck and determination, but he also knew she was something of a masochist if she thought she may let anyone down in the slightest.

She immediately perked up and reflexively smiled, although she knew her red and puffy eyes betrayed her guise of total composure. She sighed when she realized lying would be futile and admitted, "Not very well, I'm afraid. I've analyzed dozens of samples from the body and compared those to ones taken from Fitz as well as prototypically healthy examples and I've yet to spot any noticeable discrepancy in overall structure or molecular composition even though I know there has to be somewhere."

"Well, no difference between the healthy sample and Fitz could just mean Fitz wasn't infected even though he was exposed to the environment." He suggested. "Although it doesn't explain the condition of the body. We know it was contaminated." He glanced to the two transparent containment pods and involuntarily grimaced a little at the sight of Fitz and the decomposed body lying still on gurneys because it was a reflection of what could have been. He believed Simmons when she said bringing it aboard would be fine, but he still wasn't entirely comfortable carting it around in his billion dollar ride.

"To be precise there were of course some changes noted in the body, but all were consistent with the decomposition process. I haven't found any unusual or foreign agents which might explain persistent animation. I believe the key may lie in the brain and fortunately the arrow only caused minimal damage. Fatal of course, but most of the structures were intact."

Coulson narrowed his eyes as he recalled the conversation between Ward and Fitz in the SUV. "I think you're right. Ward said something about smashing their heads in. Have you been able to talk to Fitz yet?"

"No," she replied as she glanced back at the containment bay where he lay sleeping soundly surrounded by softly beeping machines that monitored his vitals, "he's been asleep since you brought him back, but I expect he'll wake soon."

"We know he had extensive contact with a group of survivors. As soon as he wakes up, find out what he knows. They may have given him some clues or information that might help you out."

"Yes, Sir." She yawned despite herself.

"And for god's sake, Simmons, get some sleep." He commanded with a gentle smile. "This thing has been going on now for some time. A few hours more won't make a difference." He could see a protest working up in her bloodshot eyes, so he cut her off before she could even start. "That's an order. I mean it- lights out in five."

She knew he was right and she knew she couldn't argue with her superior officer. "Yes, Sir." She mumbled meekly while she quickly cleaned her workstation. After Coulson had left and she turned out the lights in the lab, she took one last look at Fitz. He looked so all alone in the containment bay and she felt guilty. She told Coulson she would sleep, but she didn't say where so she quietly entered the pod, dragging in a chair with her so she could sit next to his prone body. She sat in the soft glow of the machines which beeped at a steady rhythm and watched his chest gently rise and fall under the blanket with each breath. He looked so peaceful and she hoped he was dreaming of good things because it seemed he had lived through something of a nightmare. "Oh Fitz," she sighed as her eyes grew heavy with sleep, "you gave me quite a fright, but I'm glad you're back. I can't do this without you." She reached out and gave his warm hand a small squeeze before settling in for some peace of her own.

In the main conference area, Coulson looked over at May as he smiled and folded his arms across his chest triumphantly. There was never any doubt in his mind that Simmons would forgo the comfort of her bunk to stay with Fitz. It was both curious and frightening the way they seemed to fit tightly together like two pieces of a puzzle.

May glanced from the video feed of the lab to her colleague and rolled her eyes. "Fine." She conceded in a slightly perturbed tone. "You get my pick for movie night." She knew the two were almost joined at the hip, but what was Simmons going to do? Hold his hand the entire time? "You know I just do it to torture them." She smirked.

"I know." He grinned. "I'm thinking 'Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer.' It's an 80's cartoon classic that's so bad I don't think anyone's ever actually seen it."

May groaned. "I just wanted to torture them. You obviously want to kill them."


	11. Lunch Plans

**Chapter 11- Lunch Plans**

Simmons really thought she'd be glad when Fitz woke up because she had so much to talk to him about, but so far things hadn't worked out the way she envisioned them. He had only been conscious for about an hour and a half, but she was seriously considering knocking him out again just to stop his incessant whining so she could work in peace. She tried to understand his point of view and really, she could see why he wouldn't like to be kept in the containment pod like a zoo animal to be observed and she might not like it either if she was told she couldn't leave to shower, brush her teeth, or change clothes, but as much as she tried to explain the need for these restrictions to him the more sullen he became.

It only got worse when he began pacing and realized the pod next to his was also occupied. "Jemma!" He yelled as he banged on the glass with his palm to pull her attention away from her microscope. "Jemma! What the hell is that?! Why is it here?" He asked jabbing his finger toward the body only feet away from him.

"I needed a known sample." She tried to smile although she could plainly see he was distressed. He never liked her bringing dead things into the lab, but he seemed to be taking it all a bit too hard.

"It tried to eat me!" He cried incredulously. Suddenly he felt dizzy and his heart rate went up as the monitors began shrieking to reflect the alarm he felt. "And it would have, but that's how I got this lovely souvenir of my travels!" He pointed to his bandaged shoulder as though Simmons had no knowledge of his injury.

"Fitz, get ahold of yourself." She commanded as she ran across the room to activate the divider between pods which blacked out the wall between them. "It's no danger to you now. I can promise you it's quite dead."

"I have a well-developed sense of object permanence!" He sarcastically yelled pointing to the now blackened wall. "I know it's still over there even though I can't see it. It didn't just magically go bye-bye. Even a small monkey would know that!"

"Fitz," she called softly as she placed her hand to the glass in an attempt to help him focus, "you seem a bit shaken. I can give you a small dose of benzodiazepine to…"

"No," he shook his head as he continued to pace and massage his forehead with an intense expression on his face, "I don't want any more drugs. I can handle this, I just need a minute to…um…I just need a minute, ok?" He asked quietly. He might have been able to hide his symptoms from Ward, but he knew he could never trick Simmons. She might be kind enough to give him a onetime pass, but if it happened again she would be all over it and the last thing he wanted was to be deemed mentally unfit for work. It took several minutes, but he was finally able to slow his heart rate and breathing by trying his best to simply block out the memory of what had happened and the fact the very being that tried to make a meal of him was his next door neighbor.

Although he was finally able to get it together, things didn't really get better. When his breakfast was delivered by Simmons through a slot in the door like he was a common criminal he watched the soupy mess spill from his spoon into the bowl with a splatter. He looked disgusted and distressed and asked "What the hell is this meant to be?"

"It's oatmeal, Fitz." Simmons sighed wearily. "Ward made it for you because as you can plainly see, I'm quite busy here." The truth was, she hadn't been able to fully concentrate or make any substantial progress and it irritated her. She wanted to blame Fitz's petulant behavior for the lack of advancement, but she knew it wasn't entirely accurate even if it was convenient.

"Ward? Oh, that's fantastic." He grumbled setting the bowl on a table near the door where he intended to leave it and plopped back down on the bed. "I don't know if I'm supposed to eat it or drink it."

"You need to eat, Fitz, and your body needs something that is nutrient dense and easily digestible. Haven't you taken on quite enough physical challenges lately?" She asked desperately. Why couldn't he just quietly cooperate like he usually did?

"Well, I'm not eating that slop." He started to gesture to the bowl, but stopped midway when a sharp pain tore through his shoulder and he winced while he reflexively grabbed the injured limb to soothe the pain.

Simmons looked away as just for a brief second his blue eyes went soft and wide and he looked absolutely pitiful sitting behind the glass clutching his arm. All of a sudden it made sense to her. He was hungry, miserable, and in pain but too proud or stubborn to say so. Up to that point she thought she had better things to do, but she realized she could at least solve this particular problem. "I'll be right back." She smiled at him. She went to the galley and whipped up a bowl of soup with grilled cheese for both of him and a cup of tea for herself.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her idea of food and he smiled broadly. "Yes, now this is a proper meal." He took the tray from her eagerly and even though he was starving and in familiar company, he forced himself to maintain his manners while he ate. He simply couldn't remember when food tasted so good. "Thank you, Jemma." He muttered between bites. All he wanted was to be treated like her friend or at least a human rather than one of her science experiments.

"You're quite welcome." She smiled as she sipped her tea. She was just happy to get him to eat something. He always had been particular about his food and the funny thing was, if she told him she had made the oatmeal instead of Ward, he would have eaten it. He might have made a small comment on the oat to water ratio, but he would have eaten it just the same to avoid hurting her feelings. In the end his mood had markedly improved and all it took was a trivial act of compassion. So small in fact she felt a little guilty for not having seen it earlier because while he never really asked much of her, she often found it was more what he didn't say that mattered.

"You were lucky Ward found you when he did." She informed him as he polished off the remainder of his soup. "I'm not sure you would have survived much longer."

"Yeah?" He asked mildly curious. He didn't need her to tell him that, he felt it lying there melded to the floor of the barn.

"While you were unconscious I examined material from your wound and it seems you incurred a mild lymphatic infection due to lack of basic care, but I also noted agglutination which meant…"

He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he raced to find the terminology he'd buried deep in the biology section of his mind and blurted out, "…um…lysis…different blood types."

She smiled widely at her partner. "Very good, Fitz! I didn't think you liked biology all that much. As I remember, you distinctly hated it at the academy."

"I did alright." He defended, neatly stacking his silverware on the tray. "It was all the cutting up things I didn't like." He wasn't exactly squeamish, but he couldn't help but wonder as he stared down at a fish or a cat with scalpel in hand that the animal he was to eviscerate in the pursuit of knowledge could have very well been someone's pet.

She couldn't have disagreed with him more on that point because that was one of the things she enjoyed about it. Not that she was some type of sadist, but the complexity of organisms never ceased to amaze her and she very much liked seeing how all the bits fit together to make one magnificent being. "Anyway, your type A blood did not play well with the likes of the B blood from the body and it appears a good deal managed to seep in likely due to mechanical shearing of the wound edges, causing a localized hemolytic transfusion reaction. Did you quickly experience fever, chills, or general fatigue?"

"Yeah." Fitz's mind parsed out the conversation into two streams: the clean, sterile, scientific explanation of what happened and the real world, very vivid recollection of events. He found the scientific route much less upsetting and resolved to never associate it with the layman's description. Even though both referred to him, for some reason Simmons' approach was comfortably detached and impersonal. He swallowed before he got up the courage to finally ask, "So did I get anything from it?"

"It doesn't seem so," she assured him as best she could, "but just to be safe you should remain here for at least another 24 hours. You lost a fair amount of blood and although I've replaced the missing volume with fluids to stabilize your blood pressure, you'll continue to feel some level of exhaustion until you can replenish the red blood cells on your own. I'll continue to monitor your condition so we can catch anything that arises early." It all sounded good in theory, but what if he did? What could she possibly do for him?

He was nonplussed about being further condemned to the hamster cage as he had come to think of it, but he didn't want to endanger anyone unnecessarily either. "I met people while I was out there, people who have had to live with _them_," he gestured toward the blackened wall at the body beyond, "and I told them we were trying to help. I got just a little taste of what it's like for them every day and it's terrifying, Jemma. We have to fix this."

His eyes were pleading and it broke her heart. Whatever he witnessed had made a deep impact on him. "I'm trying, Fitz." She said sadly as she hung her head. "But I'm afraid the answer's a bit elusive. I've been hours at the microscope and I have nothing." She heaved a heavy sigh and smiled apologetically at him. "I have nothing."

He had never in all his years known Jemma Simmons to give up hope, yet she seemed so defeated. "Then let me help you." He stated in a steady voice in an attempt to lend her some courage. "I'll break out some of my old biology textbooks if I need to, but whatever it takes we'll do it together like we always do, right?"

She laughed lightly and nodded in agreement. Whatever he may have thought of her or however he may have felt at the moment, he was back to the old Fitz she knew. Of course he was right in that she shouldn't be discouraged and she should keep trying even if it was hard because other people's lives depended on it. "Right, then. What is it they say about failure?"

"A null result is never a failure because it at least tells you to look elsewhere." He grinned. "So what avenues have you mapped out so far?"

"I've done some basic cell cultures and electron microscopy, but I haven't found any unusual potential causative agents." She bit her lip as she prepared a plan. "Perhaps we can approach this on two fronts. I can continue working on identification while you run trials of known compounds to see if it reacts any differently to the donor body's samples. I can move a small table in here so you can work."

Of course it was a good idea because it doubled the chances one of them would make an observation that would move them in the right direction. If she could identify what made the walkers like they were they could start formulating an anti-serum, but if he found a reactive compound they could work backward to isolate known vectors. Still, he was at least a little apprehensive. "Brilliant, but does it mean I have to go over there and keep cutting cut bits off Shaun to test?"

"Shaun?" Simmons asked confused.

"That's what I'm calling him now. You know, Shaun of the Dead?" He raised his eyebrow. "Seems a bit rude to not give him a name. I'm sure he had one when he was alive." Somehow humanizing the thing that tried to mindlessly bite him made things seem more respectful. The guy had a life and he surely didn't choose to become a walker, so he shouldn't be treated like a nameless hunk of meat.

She looked to the next pod and gave a small smile at Fitz's sentimentality. "Yeah, I suppose he did." She always found it best when performing autopsies or handling human specimens not to think of them as individuals until she was finished because it just unnecessarily complicated things. "But no, you are not to leave containment so I will tackle that bit for you. Assuming you don't mind of course."

"I think it's best." He confirmed. Suddenly being stuck in the hamster cage didn't seem like such a bad thing.

"So when you were out there," she started cautiously so as not to induce another panic attack, "you said you encountered survivors. Did they tell you anything that could be of use to us in our project?"

He pursed his lips as he thought back over the course of their conversations. "Not really." He sighed. "Just that apparently once they turn into walkers they aren't human anymore, they eat the flesh of the living, and you have to destroy the brain to kill them."

"They eat flesh…." She murmured while she mulled it over in her mind, "do they eat lesser animals as well?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "They didn't say. Didn't say much of anything in fact. Most of the chatting was them peppering me with questions as though I was an informant like the bad cop shows on TV."

She shook her head in exasperation because none of that really helped. "I wish we could talk with them. Surely they must know more having been exposed to things for as long as they have."

"I don't know how much of it they understand. They spend all their time just trying to avoid walkers and survive. Not much time for deep reflection, really." He only lived their life for one day and found it exhausting. But then again, he supposed if a person was consistently exposed to danger the fight or flight response would become almost extinct and they probably felt fairly numb or just so deeply traumatized so as to be non-reactive. Either possibility seemed equally grim to him.

"You're probably right." She sighed in desperation. "I wish there were some records or data left from the CDC, but I'm pretty sure that all went up in flame in spectacular fashion."

"Yeah," he furrowed his brow in thought, "I wonder what that was about. Seems kind of pointless, doesn't it? In a disease outbreak you detonate the one building that may hold the information to stopping it? Unless they were trying to loot it for supplies or something…"

"People do all sorts of things in a panic, Fitz." Simmons reminded him. "It doesn't always make sense. It's useless to wonder why they did it, the only relevant fact here is that whatever data they managed to gather is gone and we have to start over."

"Right." He conceded with a determined nod before looking to the blackened wall. "Look sharp, Shaun. You, Simmons, and I are going to save the world. Bet you didn't think you'd be doing that." After a moment of contemplation from his own humble beginnings in Glasgow up to the current and almost incomprehensible walker apocalypse he shook his head lightly and muttered, "Neither did I, but here we are then."


	12. Getting Sorted

**Chapter 12- Getting Sorted**

It couldn't possibly be good, Fitz thought to himself as he stood up straight next to Jemma in Coulson's office. While Simmons often had a hard time deciphering their boss, he didn't. He intuitively knew when their leader was in a jovial mood, when something weighed heavily on his mind, and when he was about to be assigned to something he wasn't going to like in the least and this was one of those times. He just didn't understand how Simmons blithely missed all the signs. Weren't women supposed to generally be better at that kind of stuff?

Coulson smiled congenially at the sight of his engineer up and about again so soon. He was still pale, but then again perhaps no more than usual given the fact the only type of light his skin typically saw was 60 watt halogen. "Good to have you back, Fitz. How are you feeling?" He asked politely. In a perfect world Fitz would have been given several more days to rest and recover because it was sort of insane to expect him to get back to work two days after being shot, but then again SHIELD wasn't exactly anyone's conception of a normal job and the world stopped being anything close to perfect long ago.

"I'm better now, Sir. Thanks to you and Simmons." He replied stoically. He was grateful to all, but he and Simmons had just come off a bit of a professional row about his confinement that morning and he was still a little irritated, but he also just wanted to smooth things over and get on with whatever fresh new hell Coulson had planned for him.

"And Agent Ward." Simmons reminded quietly with a tense smile as though he were being rude by omitting his obvious contribution.

Fitz's eyes hardened and he hissed through clenched teeth, "Yeah, well he shot me then, didn't he? And that's not the sort of thing that gets a person on my Christmas card list."

As much as Coulson was amused by their typical back and forth sibling-like squabbling, he had a pandemic to stop. "And I was going to as well, remember? One of my agents ditches his tracker and gives away his drone to a group of strangers, ultimately putting myself and others at risk to retrieve him." He sat quietly for a moment to let the implication sink in before adding, "And I was going to make you a fruitcake this year."

Fitz took a ragged breath in and felt awful at the not so subtle rebuke from his superior. Yes, he had put others at risk to save him and he couldn't deny in hindsight it was a stupid plan. He licked his lips and began in a hesitant and apologetic tone, "Sir, I…um…I know I'm not the best field agent and m'sorry for my actions…"

"I know, Fitz." Coulson nodded with a genuine smile. He knew Fitz well enough to know he really didn't need to point out the obvious as punishment because he was likely doing a bang up job of berating himself as he perpetually seemed to do even when things weren't his fault. "We all make mistakes and it's all water under the bridge. That's why I'm sending you back out. In fact, both of you."

The utter shock was plain on the faces of FitzSimmons as they both muttered, "What?" simultaneously in total disbelief.

"But Sir!" Simmons protested wide eyed. "He couldn't possibly risk further infection he's…"

"And she's got to stay in the lab to…" Fitz interrupted as he gestured to his partner.

"…already weakened and while he's technically medically stable, I…"

"…keep working on identifying what's behind all this. We've made some progress, but…"

"…can't recommend it. He hasn't regained muscular strength or motion in his shoulder and physical exertion…"

"…it's a slow process and it will likely take days before we can even come close to sayin' we found anything useful. And even if we do…"

"…would be difficult and perilous. I think it's best if he stay here where I can monitor him. He's done remarkably well, but if he goes out there where medical supplies are lacking I'm afraid it may not end so well this time. I'll go by myself."

"….we still need…" he paused to swing his head in Simmons' direction and seemed a little betrayed. "What?" He asked with a confused look. He was completely caught off guard because that wasn't the way the routine usually worked.

Coulson's head was swimming with the two simultaneous rapid fire conversations in British and Scottish accents, but he was glad it came to an abrupt end. They always had shared something like a hive-mind, but sometimes he wondered if they didn't do it on purpose to confuse him. "I appreciate your concerns." He made a particular point to emphasize the plurality of the sentiment. "And I know you've both been working hard down in the lab with little sleep or comfort to solve this thing. I have every faith that if anyone can even come close to cracking it, it will be the two of you. And while I know you both are probably several standard deviations above us mere mortals in terms of intelligence, even Einstein needed help tying his shoes."

Fitz smiled lightly and gingerly lifted his finger to correct his superior. "Well, that's not technically true, really. I mean honestly, what sort of man can visualize the space-time construct but not master the old 'over, under, 'round, and through' thing? It doesn't make any sense now does it?" 

Coulson regarded his prodigy underling with something like amused disdain. For someone so smart he really could be dense sometimes. "It was a metaphor." He informed him dryly. "But good to know."

"Of course it was." Fitz sighed deeply while Simmons looked on in shared embarrassment. He actually didn't feel too bad because he knew she was thinking the same thing he was, he was just regrettably the first to open his mouth. Still, two screw ups in one meeting was borderline incompetent so he resolved to refrain from further comment until it was fully warranted.

"Anyway," Coulson continued in a friendlier tone, "Agent Simmons, you mentioned it might be helpful to gather intelligence from the survivors and I agree."

She looked stunned as she shook her head slowly. "Sir, I don't recall having that conversation with you…"

"You didn't exactly." He smirked knowingly. "But I'm the director so I pretty much know about everything that goes on around here. Plus, it helps that the lab is rigged with cameras and audio feeds. I've been monitoring your work and while I admit I don't understand everything it looks like you two have some sort of systematic approach going."

He was interrupted by a knock and Ward cautiously opened the door to peek in. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" He asked guardedly. He may have tried to play it cool in most situations, but he hated being summoned to Coulson's office because it was never a good thing.

"Ward." Coulson greeted, motioning for him to enter. "Come join the party. I was just explaining to FitzSimmons here our plan."

Fitz gave Ward an irritated sideways glance, both for shooting him and for his apparent scheming with Coulson to involve he and Simmons in what was shaping up to be a very unpleasant assignment. It seemed his onetime friend was keeping a lot of secrets from him these days and it felt a little disrespectful- almost like he didn't trust him. Didn't he stay with him to dismantle the overkill device when he could have ran? Didn't he prove he was every bit the agent he was?

Ward tossed him a small nod in return and casually asked "How you doing, Fitz?" He could tell by his tense posture he was more agitated than anxious, but at least he wasn't cowering in the corner at the sight of him like last time. He wanted to visit him while he was in containment, but he kept his distance because he didn't want to upset him again. He knew it probably looked bad, but he honestly thought he was doing the right thing by leaving him alone.

"I'm very well, thank you." He tersely replied with a blank expression.

Ward rolled his eyes and sighed, "Ok, then." Whatever his boggle was, he still hadn't fully shaken it. No matter the cause, it was clearly his fault and it felt like having a jealous girlfriend. "You still owe me a kiss, though."

Coulson and Simmons glanced to Fitz with confused expressions and he felt his ears and cheeks burn hot with the sudden rush of blood because he could only imagine what they must have thought. He frowned and spat, "No, I believe you owe me a kiss on my arse, remember? I think my being shot trumps your climbing through a bloody window like the boyfriend you fancy yourself to be." While it was a witty retort to Ward, he quickly realized it only served to make things worse for the others present because they weren't privy to joke the first time around.

Coulson continued to watch the exchange with slight discomfort while Simmons glanced to the floor with her mouth slightly open in abject shock. She couldn't really say she knew Ward well enough to be certain about his sexual orientation, but it never occurred to her that Fitz might have been gay. As well as she knew him, she felt a little hurt he would hide such a thing from her because he was her best friend in the world and she would gladly support him no matter what. Come to think of it, he never mentioned being interested in other men, but he didn't really talk about women either. He was always just sort of in a long term relationship with science, however one would classify that sort of thing.

After realizing it was some sort of inside joke, Coulson cleared his throat to regain control of the situation and cheerfully asked "Do I need to remind you about the no fraternization policy as a condition of being on this team?" When Ward and Fitz attempted to respond he cut them off with a quick shake of his head. "Look, I'm not as old as you think I am. Frankly, I don't care what the two of you do on your own time and I know being in such close quarters can sometimes make for odd situations, but when you're on the bus, or the Quinjet, or in the field you're on my time and the rules apply. Now whatever disagreement the two of you are having, I suggest you get it sorted because all of you are going to be heading out to find that group you had contact with. We need to explore every avenue we can in figuring out the pandemic and they may be able to help."

"Better load up on guns, knives, and drugs as quid pro quo." Ward scoffed. "They don't seem the type to help out of the goodness of their hearts."

"That's not true." Fitz defended in a hurt tone. "They helped me for no reason. They're good people, Ward. They're just tryin' to survive out there and if they can help us, we should help them. It's only fair." Fitz always had believed in the basic goodness of people, but in this case he had direct evidence of his convictions. Sure, the group may have done things that from the outside may have seemed unusual or even cruel, but the fact was they lived in a very different world with a completely different set of rules and he just couldn't fault them for that.

"He has a point. That's why I'm sending the two of you. You've both made contact with them and at least Fitz seems to have an in with them. Ward, you're going for protection so FitzSimmons can gather whatever information they can. I'd rather send people they already know than a whole group of complete strangers. They already seem suspicious of us and I can't say I blame them." Coulson reasoned as he leaned back in his chair. "Fitz, you spent more time with them than anyone. I want you and Simmons to make a few gift baskets for our guests. Add what you think they need most, but don't give everything we have away like last time."

"But if I didn't give them the drone, we wouldn't know where they were now would we?" He asked slyly. "I knew what I was doing even though you all clearly doubted my logic." His tone was playfully sarcastic with just a hint of superiority and a smidge of self-depreciation.

"It would seem so." Coulson conceded with a smirk. "Be safe out there. I want you all to stay together and play it smart. If they don't want to cooperate, thank them for their time and come back in one piece. I think we've all had enough excitement for a bit." He gave a friendly nod to Fitz to acknowledge his ordeal and to let him know he was too valuable to lose no matter what he may have thought. "There is one more thing." He informed them with some hesitation. "While you're gone May and I have to make a quick trip back to HQ so you'll be on your own with no back-up."

Although none of them spoke up to express their dismay at the arrangement, they were all most certainly thinking the same thing judging by the blank and otherwise aggravated expressions on their faces. Finally, Ward found the wherewithal to clarify the situation. "How long?" He asked suspiciously with a squint.

"Hopefully only a few hours, but you know how these things go. Be prepared for up to three days."

Fitz slowly hung his head in defeat. He didn't want to go back out so soon and certainly not with Ward, but now he was looking at a potential three day camping trip in zombieland packing gear with an injured shoulder. Once more he found himself wondering why he took the job, but then he remembered the reason was standing right next to him, smiling tensely as she usually did when she was trying to put a positive spin on things for his sake. "It might not be so bad, Fitz." She suggested hopefully. "Perhaps they can tell us something useful and in return we can help them." He knew she was appealing to his practical sensibilities and desire to return the favor to those who assisted him. He couldn't argue with her, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it either.

After the meeting was called to an end, as instructed FitzSimmons went around the plane gathering items such as water, food, medicine, clothing, and tools not only for themselves, but for the survivors. "It feels a bit like bribery." He muttered miserably while he stuffed the pockets of a backpack with gauze, packets of antibiotics, and bandages in the lab.

"Perhaps it's better to think of it as humanitarian aid." Simmons suggested while she minded the water and food, calculating the basic number of calories the stash could provide one adult. "If they are willing to assist us then that's wonderful, but it would be cruel to use this as a means of coercion given what you told me about how little they have."

"Tell that to Agent Ward." He replied darkly. He involuntarily winced as flashes of blood splashing on the windshield and the sound of bodies bouncing off the SUV forcibly invaded his consciousness, causing his stomach to turn.

"Why don't you tell me?" Ward asked from the door to the lab where he leaned casually against the frame with his arms folded. "Since all of a sudden you seem to think I'm evil." He wanted to laugh at the way Fitz's eyes went wide and he looked scared and glum all at the same time, but he didn't really have anything against his teammate. He just had to figure out what was bothering him before he was tasked with keeping them both alive out in the wild. "Agent Simmons, can I have a word with Fitz in private?" He asked politely. In reality he didn't have to ask because he outranked her, but it was the nice thing to do. He was always mindful of his manners because in doing so she might just go easy on him the next time she had to patch him up and he would take every little favor he could get.

Simmons glanced at Fitz and tried to think of a way to stay with her friend, but he gave her an almost imperceptible nod to let her know she could go. "Of course," she replied hastily, still keeping her eyes on Fitz to make sure he wasn't going to change his mind at the last minute. The last time the two of them were in the lab together Ward tried to intimidate him verbally and physically after he'd been affected by the Beserker staff. Fitz came out ok, although obviously shaken and demoralized after Ward taunted him for not saving her, which was a particularly sore spot for him. It was ugly and unfair and she didn't want him to be subjected to that kind of abuse again even if Ward couldn't really help it at the time.

After Simmons drug herself away from the lab, Ward slowly crossed the room and positioned himself across from Fitz separated by a lab table scattered with random supplies. He took a moment to choose his words and tone carefully. "Fitz, I'm not sure what you went through when you were out there, but whatever it was…"

"I'm fine." He shot back, stuffing the backpack with more force than necessary. "I don't need to be coddled like a child. And I'd appreciate it if you and everyone else would stop treating me like I'm not an agent." He paused to lock eyes with Ward and defiantly spat, "Because I am!"

"This again?" He asked confused. "Fitz, nobody's questioning your ability here. Least of all me. The truth is, you stuck it out and did what you had to in order to survive until I got there. That's what any good agent does."

"Is it the truth?" He inquired raising his eyebrow. "Because I don't know what is anymore. I thought we were friends but you shot me, Ward! And then you keep this mission a secret from me and expect me to trust you? How long did you know? Or is that classified?"

Ward's head was spinning to keep up with his insane conspiracy theories. "Wait. What?" He stammered. "I found out about the mission when you did! Ok, yes. I shot you, but it's not what you think! It was the best chance I had to save you- so Simmons could save you! You were freaking out and probably delirious, I don't know, but you wouldn't let me near you. And as long as we're telling secrets here, mind telling me what the hell _that_ was about?"

Fitz's mouth went dry and he clenched his teeth at having the tables turned on him. He really had no defense and he wasn't about to let him in on the fact he temporarily lost his damn mind, so his best option was to evade the subject altogether. "You're missing the point! I don't care that you shot me. I know now why you did it, but why couldn't you just tell me then?" He pleaded. "I thought you were there to kill me. I honestly thought I was going to die there and it was terrifying." He paused to hang his head before softly muttering, "After all that and I was going to be done in by my friend."

Ward's breath caught in his throat and he looked away in shame. He and Fitz got along ok as teammates should but he never knew the quiet little nerd considered him a friend, at least not a close one anyway. It wasn't like they regularly hung out and drank beer together or anything and it was almost sad how frighteningly low Fitz's standards were to become so attached after only one nearly disastrous mission together. Then again, Fitz didn't usually work in the field so he probably didn't know such attachments were unhealthy and to be avoided because your partners sometimes weren't around long. He never thought about it but if anyone on the team was sent to kill him, it probably would have been him or May and because he thought Fitz was smart enough to figure it out, he didn't realize he was actually causing him serious psychological distress at the time. "You're right." He admitted with a sick guilt spinning in the pit of his stomach. "Maybe I should've explained things to you, but you weren't exactly in your right mind. Now I don't know what that was and really, I don't care. I just want to know that it won't happen again while we're out there. Fitz," he warned in a low tone, "if you are in any way a potential danger to me or Simmons I need to know that."

Fitz didn't even attempt to hide the disdain on his face for the implication he would ever put Simmons at risk, or that Ward would again be put in a position to save the girl like the hero he was. "I'm no threat to you or anyone." He replied coldly. "I think you've made that more than clear to everyone."

"Fitz." Ward sighed wearily. "You need to make a choice. You can either stop blaming everyone else for your own insecurities and own them, or you can simply accept the fact that we have different jobs for a reason and neither is better than the other. So you can't go out there and be James Bond. I wouldn't have the first clue how to build any of the things that you do and you know what? I'm fine with that. Without you and your skills, my job would be a hell of a lot harder and let's face it- your inventions have saved my life and those of everyone on this team several times over. It's not a competition, so let's just agree to be the best we can be at our respective jobs, ok?"

Fitz slowly blinked while he considered his argument before resuming packing his bag with much less enthusiasm as the loathing and anger in him subsided into something more calm and rational. "It's probably best," he quietly conceded, "I'm not particularly keen on killing and you probably don't know the difference between Raman and energy dispersive spectroscopy."

"Not true." Ward smiled broadly, relieved Fitz was at least willing to put things aside for the time being. "One of them has to do with noodles."

"Actually, it's used to observe vibrational or other low-frequency…" He reflexively started to launch into a lecture because he was so used to others being dead wrong, but he paused and grinned slyly. "Ah, I see what you did there. Well, did you know the Heineken uncertainty principle states you can never be sure how many beers you had the night before?"

Ward playfully tried to look impressed. "No. Is that true?"

"I don't know for certain, but like any good scientist I keep testing the theory and I've found that after six or so in an hour you typically reach something like an event horizon of a black hole- an ever greater sense of molecular disambiguation of the body followed by nausea and vomiting before being pulled into a darkness from which there is no escape."

Ward found it incredibly funny and thought back to their mission together at the bar in the Ukraine and remembered how Fitz tossed back shots of fiery salty vodka like it was nothing and it occurred to him that even though he was easily twice Fitz's size, he could probably drink him under the table in half the time. He laughed easily and stated, "I guess science isn't so boring after all. Is that what you eggheads called training over there at SciTech back at the academy?"

Fitz smiled and replied, "You think we had it easy, is that it? We used to sit on the wall that divided SciTech and Ops to watch you do your Rambo drills and we'd take a shot every time one of your lot washed out." He sighed wistfully at the memory and added, "Most didn't make it an hour before they fell off the wall stone drunk. People regularly busted their heads open, bleeding everywhere. It was a lot more brutal than you'd think."

"Seriously?!" He scoffed incredulously. "We had no free time and if we did, it was spent icing bruises or sewing each other up, but you guys were watching us drop like flies wearing beer goggles. Unbelievable."

"Oh no, not beer." Fitz corrected. "With all the chemists and equipment about there were places stashed 'round where we made our own- something like vodka but truly it was a step below turpentine. Shocking we didn't die of liver failure, really."

Still a little sour his suffering was unwittingly entertainment for others, Ward asked "So how many spills did you take?"

"Me?" He laughed with a twinkle in his eye as he zipped up the now full pack of goodies. "None. And before you ask, yes I did often have a go but do you see any scars on this dashingly handsome face? No, I don't think so."

He seemed a little too pleased with himself in Ward's estimation. "Is that because you fell on your ass?" He snarked.

Fitz kept a neutral expression and in a flat tone asked, "Did you want to see for yourself?" Sure it was a little cheeky, but he loved the confused look on Ward's face as he tried to figure out if he was being serious or not.

"No." He quickly answered before turning toward the door to leave. "Save that show for Simmons." Almost as an afterthought, he mumbled "Jesus. I think the zombie did something to your brain after all."


	13. Marching Toward Madness

**Chapter 13- Marching Toward Madness**

"Well, isn't this just a lovely kind of hell?" Fitz wondered aloud as he struggled with his heavy pack and tried to keep up in the oppressive heat. The air was so humid it felt like he was drowning with every breath and he was pretty sure his stitches had come loose under the pull of the shoulder strap that hung with a merciless downward force despite Simmons insisting she add extra padding to the dressing to prevent such a thing. It was wishful thinking at best, but as he wiped the sweat from his face and swatted at bugs that were intent on making a meal of him he started to think it all was.

Simmons kept tossing cautious glances back at her friend and whenever he caught her she tried to mask her concern with an encouraging expression, but she dare not offer to carry his pack for him again even if just for a little while. It was a grand mistake and while she was only trying to help, he of course thought otherwise and took it as patronizing. Sometimes he could be so stubborn it infuriated her, but if he wouldn't allow her to be so obvious she decided on the more subtle route of passive resistance. She purposely walked a little slower than she was truly capable and made small yet believable excuses that she was unaccustomed to trekking with such heavy gear all to force Ward to slow his pace as well and thus, allow Fitz to not feel so bad about not keeping up.

Ward wasn't an idiot. He knew Simmons was feigning to cover for Fitz and he also knew Fitz had no clue about any of it because if he did it would no doubt set him off about being unskilled or whatever such nonsense he perpetually carried in his head. As much as he hated it, he went along with Simmons just for the sake of team cohesion but he also kept chomping at the bit to make them move as quickly as possible. At the pace they were going, the only hope they had in catching up with the survivors was if they stopped for a long period and so far they showed no intention of doing so as the drone signal kept an infuriatingly steady pace at least two miles ahead. "One of us could run ahead and stop them." He suggested. "Right now we're like hamsters on a wheel."

"Simmons can't go." Fitz huffed, squinting as salty sweat and dirt made his eyes burn. Since they left the bus he tried his best not to look at the bodies of walkers that littered the road. It was completely irrational, but he feared he might recognize one of them as someone he knew. "They don't know her and they might not like a stranger running up on them like that. They seem to be afraid of living people more than the dead."

"And Coulson said we had to stay together." She reminded them. She warily glanced to her left and right as she walked. Every so often she heard soft moaning or shuffling of undead feet, or at least she thought she did. Still, she kept her hand resting near the gun strapped to her thigh as part of the tactical gear they all wore. Given the circumstances, the ammunition was live rather than icers and the guns had been fitted with silencers so as not to cause a ruckus per Fitz's advice. They also had knives, but that was as a last resort because while Ward was skilled at such close range combat, she and Fitz were at a bit of a disadvantage. She liked to think they could manage if it came down to it, but she didn't want to test the theory.

"I understand why we're all kitted up like this," Fitz noted as he gestured to his visually intimidating black getup with lightweight body armor and weaponry, "but we're not exactly heading out to put down a riot or anything." It felt kind of cool and slightly more dangerous than his typical jeans and button-up combo he wore in his daily life. It wasn't often he got to dress like Ops agents or carry deadly weapons that he had real reservations about using on other living things and he was having mixed feelings about it. "All I'm saying is it might give the wrong impression."

"Or give them ideas." Ward corrected with a roll of his eyes. "I'm sure one if not more of us will be going home a bit lighter and I don't mean minus the packs."

Fitz shook his head in disgust. "They're not thieves, Ward, and they're not bad people. Look around! Does this seem a great place to retire to? It's bloody hot, humid, and the air constantly smells like a landfill corpse. Because that's what this place is, except the corpses come at you. And if they don't get their putrid, vile, rotted flesh on you then other people will likely kill you for what small bit of gear you've managed to accumulate. It's a terrible state of affairs and I don't blame them. If I spotted three people the likes of us armed for Armageddon I'd take it too."

"No you wouldn't!" Ward laughed incredulously. "If it came right down to it you'd give the very last thing you had to someone else even if you knew it would mean your own certain death." He shrugged lightly and added, "It's who you are, Fitz."

"Boys," Simmons called politely, "we have visitors." About 100 yards up the road a small group of walkers milled around aimlessly in a restless search for whatever would quench their desperation.

Ward watched them with a wary eye and reached for his gun. "I don't think they know we're here yet."

"We could go 'round." Fitz suggested. "We…we don't have to kill them, do we?"

"They're probably already dead, Fitz. They're just moving around utilizing biological reflexes." Simmons guessed.

"But we don't know that!" He pressed with a sense of urgency. "We haven't studied it, so we don't know if they have any sense of awareness or not. It seems they do and we can't just assume they aren't in any way sentient."

"Then why don't you go up to them and shake their hands? Introduce yourself." Ward proposed sarcastically.

Sensing the rising tension and recognizing each had a valid argument, Simmons interjected herself to offer her opinion. "At the very least, we should conserve ammunition, right? We don't know how long we'll be out here and perhaps we should reserve what we have until it's absolutely necessary. Surely evasion is just as effective as shooting them in the head."

"Evasion." Ward muttered as his eyes went distant. "When I was at the barn the walkers wanted to attack me, but for some reason the last one didn't. It was so close, but it just turned and walked away like I wasn't there anymore. Like I was invisible."

Simmons raised her eyebrow as her mind began to race with insight. "Of course! Fitz, one thing we never asked ourselves was if they are driven to eat flesh, why don't they turn on one another? It would seem easier for them to feed on one another than to capture healthy, living people. Granted there truly is strength in numbers, but all else being equal far more opportunity for cannibalism of their own kind exists than hunting a species higher up on the food chain."

Fitz's eyes widened slightly as he followed her logic. "Right! And we know from epidemiological rate of infection models that whatever this is isn't endemic and that there can't be any sort of immunity…"

"Well, there are always outliers of natural active acquired hosts…" She corrected.

He nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "Of course there are always a few in any bunch, but obviously not enough to provide any sort of advantage to the population density as a whole. So, assuming each walker is capable of infecting at least two people and 100% of the population is susceptible…"

"Outliers!" Simmons reminded patiently in a singsong voice.

"Ok, let's say generously 98% then. How long would you say these things…" he paused in an effort to choose the right description, "…how long would they carry on?" Living just didn't seem the right term for their existence.

"Hmmm." Simmons furrowed her brow deep in thought. "Given the rate of decomposition or injury minus reparative potential I would think they could continue for six to eight months, perhaps longer in colder climates."

"So two infection potentials, 98% susceptibility, at an average of seven months." He sighed deeply while Simmons nodded grimly.

Ward waited for what seemed an eternity before impatiently hissing, "Means what, exactly?!" He could appreciate the fact FitzSimmons could quickly and apparently telepathically communicate, but they failed to realize he was not part of the party. He didn't know what sort of crazy equation Fitz was conjuring in his head, but he knew enough to realize it probably wasn't good.

Fitz was surprisingly calm given the outcome of his calculation. "It means by now the dead outnumber the living by about eight to one but that number will continue to increase exponentially, doubling every three months or less."

"It also means there are relatively few survivors in less populated areas such as this one." Simmons added in a sad and almost apologetic tone. "But those that are here statistically have a better chance of remaining, although as Fitz said, those chances decrease the longer the risk of exposure."

"Then we'd better catch up to them." Ward suggested with determination. "Fitz, I know you've gone on record to express your opposition to eliminating walkers and point taken. But we have to accomplish this mission and we have to be expedient about it. That means we don't have the extra time to go creeping around in the woods to avoid them." He quietly drew his gun from his holster and released the safety. He didn't think he had to finish his thoughts on the plan.

Simmons nodded at Ward to let him know she was on board, if reluctantly, and kept her hand by her gun in case she needed it. She didn't want to kill anything either, but she was a pragmatist and for her safety and that of her team, she would eliminate threats if she had to. It was the only logical course of action.

Fitz swallowed hard and looked miserably at the ground while he readjusted the heavy pack on his back and wrapped his fingers around the straps at his shoulders should he need to run with it. He wasn't going to argue because he knew it was no use, but he made it plain enough through his body language and the gun that remained safely stowed at his thigh he didn't intend on using it. "Let's go, then." He said in a calm and resigned voice. "Remember once to the head."

Ward took the lead and quickly disposed of the group of walkers, dropping each with an almost silent well-placed shot before the others seemed to recognize what was happening to them. They fell one near and on another until the air was silent and they lay like branches of a broken tree on the pavement. And so it went for most of the afternoon, each death barely marked by their resolve to keep pushing forward, each body left where it was felled with hardly a backward glance.

Through it all Fitz kept his head down and put one foot in front of the other despite his fatigue even when he had to step in or over pools of blood or the pale and ragged strewn limbs of the dead. With so much hopelessness and destruction surrounding him he just found it easier not to think about it or anything else. There was some small oasis of comfort to be found in simply going numb and marching like a machine until he collapsed or reached his destination, whichever was to come first. It worked so well in fact he hadn't heard Ward and Simmons calling his name until she reached out to grab his arm.

"Fitz!" Simmons called again in a hushed tone as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist to pull him to a stop. He had settled into a steady clip about an hour before and mysteriously said absolutely nothing the whole time as he managed to outpace her and almost Ward as well. When he did look up at her, his eyes were dazed like he had been roused from sleepwalking and it frightened her a little. "Are you alright?" She asked concerned. His clothes were absolutely soaked with sweat and he hadn't drank any water since they began. She worried he may have suffered from heat exhaustion.

He quickly looked down again and muttered, "Yeah. I...um…yeah, I'm fine." He looked around to get his bearings and noted the blip on Ward's screen to indicate the drone signal. "So were near?"

"According to this." Ward acknowledged. "That's assuming it's still with them and they didn't give it to someone else or just plain ditch it. It hasn't moved now for about 10 minutes."

Fitz scratched his face and squinted into the trees. "If we're close they probably know it. In fact, the most likely we'll run into will be Daryl."

"Crossbow guy?" Ward guessed.

"Yeah, that's him." Fitz confirmed still scanning the area for any sign of life. "But I don't know if he'll come out and say hello even if he does spot us. He might go back to tell the group we're here first."

"Do you think he would shoot at us?" Simmons asked hesitantly. She never met the guy, but she gathered he was responsible for Fitz's wound so he was at least a credible threat.

"No, I don't think so." Fitz shook his head confidently. He recalled the look on Daryl's face when the group left him for dead and it clearly conveyed the fact he was upset by it. That wasn't the kind of man who took potshots at strangers.

"Me either. He had the chance to kill me but he didn't. I got the sense he's the lookout." Ward agreed.

"Maggie said he hunts for the group." Fitz added.

Ward grinned and chuckled as he remembered how he didn't hear him sneak up behind him. "That makes sense."

"Right then." Fitz declared with a sense of purpose. "I think the best course is for me to go ahead to make contact with them and tell them about you. It might go better than all of us strolling in- especially if it's Rick we run into first." He dreaded the thought, but it was a distinct possibility.

"He's their enigmatic leader." Ward leaned over to inform Simmons. "Tall, lanky, and a little unhinged if you ask me, but he did keep his word not to shoot me in the back I guess."

"That's something!" She said optimistically. "As long as he's reasonable if not slightly mad we can manage."

"Alright you're up, Fitz." Ward declared. "We'll stay a safe distance behind, but we'll be within sight. You'd better charm the hell out of them because I don't want to go home with an arrow in my ass." He warned with a playful smile.

"Yes, do be careful." Simmons echoed reaching for the pack he held out to her. She couldn't help but ask, "Your tracker isn't in here, right?"

"No, I have it." He grumbled, unamused by her teasing. He considered leaving his weapons behind as well, but in the end he decided to wear them to look more the agent he claimed to be, as if the off black SHIELD eagle emblem on the shoulders of his form fitting shirt wasn't enough of a tip-off.

He walked slowly down the road so as not to appear threatening and to give any spotters plenty of time to see him. He didn't have to walk alone very long before a woman's voice called, "Stop where you are. Hands up."

Carol watched from behind as the man clad in black complied with her demands and raised his hands in the air where she could see he was unarmed despite the gun at his side and several pockets in his pants and vest which probably held more weapons. "Don't move." She commanded in a stern voice as she carefully approached, holding her gun at arm's length and pointed at the back of his head. He was clearly wearing a bulletproof vest, but it was the way he held his left arm just a little lower and clenched his hand as though it were painful to keep it elevated that got her attention. "Put your left arm down." She instructed suspiciously. She took another step closer and noted the same eagle emblem she'd seen before. "Fitz?" She asked curiously. "I didn't expect to see you here." Alive or otherwise, she thought to herself.

"I didn't expect you either." He admitted with a sheepish smile as he took the liberty of letting his right hand fall to his side, although not too quickly as to seem to be reaching for his gun. Maggie did warn him Carol would drop him in an instant if she felt she had to and he didn't want to provoke her.

"What are you doing here?" She inquired swinging around to face him as she holstered her gun. "I mean, I'm glad you survived but…" she trailed off. She hoped he wasn't angry they left him and was back for retribution.

"Like I said before, I'm here to try to figure out what's causing the disease but I came because I think you and the others might be able to help. I brought two of my colleagues and some supplies." He informed her with as much authority as he could muster. "We don't want trouble, we just want to work with you."

Carol folded her arms across her chest as she cocked her head. "I don't think Rick's gonna like this."

"Maybe not." He admitted with a small sigh. "But the supplies are yours if you help us or not. What's to lose?"

"I can think of plenty." She said darkly.


	14. Insight and Blind Ambition

**A/N: I've been crazy busy lately and haven't worked on this as much as I would have liked, but this chapter is extra long to make up for it- enjoy ;)**

**Chapter 14- Insight and Blind Ambition**

The sun was just starting to set and the horizon glowed in reds and oranges as if the very universe wanted to remind them of the hell and blood they were perpetually surrounded in. Rick stood glaring at the three agents with his hands on his hips and an intense scowl for much longer than Ward felt necessary, but he dared not say anything. Coulson made it clear he was only along for protection and as uncomfortable as it was, Fitz was running point on the mission as far as interactions with the survivors went. It wasn't that he didn't trust Fitz, but the loss of total control over the situation was what he found unnerving.

Simmons stood quietly and practiced her best friendly smile to convey the fact they meant them no harm despite their appearance. Their leader seemed so weary and no doubt the weight of protecting them all had caused significant stress because she could see it plainly in his face. He was torn between sending them away or accepting the supplies and potentially exposing them all to danger. While he at least seemed indifferent to Fitz, he viewed her and Ward with nothing less than wary suspicion. However, there were other members of the group that genuinely seemed pleased to see Fitz like seeing a long lost friend and it gave her hope that the mission wouldn't be a complete and utter failure after all.

Fitz shyly accepted an enthusiastic hug from Maggie and a warm handshake from Glen, while a much tamer nod was received from Daryl, who kept his distance from the group. "Fitz! I'm so glad you made it." Maggie gushed, taking him by the arms to look him over as though it were a miracle. And in a way it sort of was. "The last time I saw you, you were fixin' to hand in your dinner pail."

He briefly pondered the meaning of her statement before settling on giving her a small smile as he gestured to Ward and Simmons. "Yeah, well they had a good deal to do with it. Agent Ward found me and Agent Simmons provided some much needed medical assistance, but none of it would've mattered if you didn't help me first and give them a fair go. Which reminds me…" He retrieved his pack from Simmons and fished through it, eventually producing the gun he was left with. It wasn't terribly hard to locate it where Ward left it on the nightstand next to his bunk after the meeting with Coulson. He gave it to back to Rick and added, "I cleaned it and replaced the firing pin. It would've failed after about 50 rounds."

Rick couldn't help but smirk as he looked it over and remembered Ward told him he designed his fancy gun. Just looking at the kid he couldn't imagine him ever touching a gun, let alone making them but the old saying of not judging books by their covers was apparently still true even in the topsy turvey world he inhabited. "Thanks," he muttered as he pulled the night-night gun from his waistband and gave it to Fitz, "and you can have that back. It's a neat bit of technology, but pretty useless for what we need. We need things dead, not sleepy."

"Does it make the walkers sleepy?" He asked quizzically looking at the gun mystified. He just assumed it wouldn't have the same effect on rotted flesh.

"No." Rick replied flatly. "Doesn't do anything to them."

"Perhaps that's because the dendrotoxin in the icers only works to render one unconscious and the…walkers as you call them…may not be fully conscious as we know it." Simmons theorized. "Unless the flesh is just so desiccated that the toxin can't travel through the typical circulatory or lymphatic systems…"

Sensing his cue, Fitz turned his attention back to Rick. "She's a biochemist and she's working with me to figure out what's causing people to turn to walkers. We were hoping you could tell us what you know of them to speed things along."

Ward removed the heavy pack from his back and tossed it to Rick's feet where it landed with a resounding thud. "We brought food, medicine, and some weapons. They're all yours. Think of it as a thank you gift for helping Fitz." He glanced to the engineer and noted, "He's a pretty important part of the team and it would've been a devastating loss." The ever so subtle smile that crossed Fitz's lips was enough to let him know he may have finally gotten the message.

Rick frowned at the bag and scratched the scruff that was starting to grow thick on his cheeks. "And if we don't?"

"Then we'll go." Simmons promised solemnly. "But in any case the supplies are yours. There's just so much we don't know about the walkers and it would be greatly helpful if we could just talk with you. I've done some preliminary analysis on samples from a body but it's frustratingly slow, and as any data that may have been collected on the matter has been destroyed…" she shrugged in exasperation but her tone remained hopeful.

Rick looked down and pondered the meaning of the existence of the stuffed bag once more and finally mumbled, "Give me a minute." He wandered toward his group and gestured for them to come in close to discuss the matter. "Well?" He asked expectantly. He certainly had his ideas, but he wasn't their king. He wanted to temper his own natural skepticism with the thoughts of others, be they confirming or damning of his own.

"Why not?" Maggie shrugged. "I mean, they're just giving us the stuff no matter what, so why not just talk to them?"

"If that's all they want. Looks like they have a lot more to say judgin' by the gear they're wearin'." Daryl noted squinting in the agents' direction. "Doesn't look like a friendly chat to me."

"And how do we know the food isn't tainted?" Carol questioned. "We tell them what they want to know and we die of poisoning days later. The woman said something about toxins and she's a chemist. God knows what's in that stuff."

"Why would they even bother? We're no threat to them. If they were really up to no good they would talk to us and then just leave us to die or better yet, just shoot us. But what good does our death possibly do them? They obviously have all they need and then some." Glen reasoned.

Rick considered each opinion carefully before providing his own. "I say we talk to them 'cause if nothing else, they may come in handy later. We'll have a little dinner so they eat what they brought too and we'll tell what we know. Hell, if it helps then great. But if they brought us what's in the pack you know they have more. A lot more. They wouldn't short themselves on our account and time may come when we need what they have." He returned to the agents and picked up the pack, looking each in the eye. "Alright," he nodded in a neutral tone, "we'll talk. But first you're gonna take off that armor and give us your guns. You can have it back when you go."

"I doubt that." Ward mumbled under his breath, still miffed at Fitz for stealing the gun off his table. He was apparently a slippery little bastard when he wanted to be and he resolved to keep a closer eye on him.

Dinner was about as simple as it could get, but after the day's long hike the rehydrated MRE rations made with slightly warmed water couldn't have tasted better to anyone present. Out of courtesy, the agents ate only the bare minimum they could in order to leave as much as possible remaining for the survivors. They had real food waiting for them back at the bus assuming Coulson and company weren't detained at HQ, but to Rick and his group the vaguely flavored reconstituted piles of mush was the best they could ever hope for.

Simmons tossed her empty container of red beans and rice into the fire with a satisfied sigh and watched the biodegradable box curl and turn to cinder. "Oh, Mr. Dixon," she called enthusiastically pointing at the backpack by his feet, "I've also packed some goodies for you. Near the bottom there are tins of pudding, some fresh fruit, and bars of chocolate." Her face was brightened by both the warm glow of the fire and her smile. "One can't live on rations alone." She reasoned.

Daryl glanced from the bag to her mid bite with a confused look on his face while Rick laughed for the first time in a very long time. "Mr. Dixon," he teased playfully, "I do declare that's a mighty fine gift. You should thank the lady like a proper gentleman."

Daryl frowned at him and admonished, "You're a dick." He shook his head and returned his attention to an obviously flustered Simmons. "Don't pay him no mind," he advised her shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth, "it's just nobody ever called me that. Sounds weird."

"It does, but the chocolate sounds real good." Maggie grinned. "I can't remember the last time I had any. Mr. Dixon, could you pass me the bag pretty please?"

"Knock it off." He warned as he gently kicked the pack toward her with a vicious glare. She didn't know, but to him 'Mr. Dixon' was his dad and he didn't exactly have too many fond memories of him, at least not enough to want to be associated with the child abusing sociopath.

"I'm so sorry, I seem to have made a mistake here." Simmons apologized sheepishly. "I didn't mean to…"

"Nah. I don't mind you. I suppose bein' English you have to be proper and all, but these idiots are common as dirt." He grumbled miserably. "Ain't no fault of yours."

"We Scots aren't too shabby with the manners either." Fitz shrugged to lighten the mood.

"Oh rubbish!" Simmons laughed lightly. "You and yours are quite well known to be less than modest at best."

"_My_ kind?" He sputtered angrily. "What's that to mean?!"

"The Scots are well balanced people, they have chips on both shoulders. The story goes the English armies had an easy time in conquering Scotland because your troops often showed up drunk and naked, waving their penises about if they even came at all." She replied matter of factly.

He shook his head slowly with a blank expression. "Well, look at you all up on your high horse, your majesty. You know the old Queen Mum and her divine family of Billy no-mates are all just a bunch of Germans anyway."

Simmons looked at her partner shocked. "You take that back this instant! Queen Elizabeth was a tank mechanic during the war. What was Scotland doing? Tinkering around with hydro-electric and bragging the only casualties that had been suffered during bombing raids were a cat and some swallows!"

"Don't underestimate Scotland's contribution to the war. We only had about five million people at the time and swallows outnumbered people, so it was a great loss." He retorted smugly. "And, you're welcome for the hydro-electric that _we_ developed as well as the field hospitals _we_ built that later became the NHS. But hey, what else could you expect from a bunch of penis waving, sheep buggering, drunk people tossin' big poles about?"

Ward sighed uncomfortably as he looked to Rick's group who seemed unsure if the night's dinner was about to be accompanied by a boxing match. He shrugged helplessly and admitted, "I live with them and I don't get it, although this happens pretty often. Don't worry, in two more minutes they'll be back to best friends."

"Oh, I'm not angry with Fitz." Simmons confirmed brightly. "Don't be silly."

"Yeah, we're totally friends." He agreed earnestly gesturing between them.

Daryl watched them intently, thoroughly amused with the show. "You two are better than TV." He chuckled. "Drinkin' and runnin' around naked. Scotland sounds like a riot."

Fitz backpedaled and corrected, "Well, we don't really wave our bits around at strangers or accost sheep…"

"But they do drink quite a lot and they eat sheep guts. They have the most vile concept of food." Simmons gently ribbed.

"Oh, and English food is known 'round the world for being the epitome of cuisine?" He asked sarcastically. "Most of it is flavorless paste. It reminds me of eating glue when I was a child in primary school."

Glen sat back and watched the fire and enjoyed the sensation of having a full stomach while Agents Fitz and Simmons carried on. It was something he hadn't felt in a long while, but when there was finally a break in the bickering he mused, "I guess when it comes down to it, just about anything can be food to a starving person. There have been days when glue and sheep guts may not have sounded so bad."

"Liver, gizzards, and kidney ain't so bad if you clean and fix 'em right." Daryl agreed. "'Course it helps if you can drown 'em in gravy or greens."

Simmons looked around the group and as the opportunity had presented itself and most were done eating, she gingerly asked "What do the walkers eat? Fitz told me they eat the living, but they move so slow. How do they manage?"

"They're slow, but persistent." Maggie answered, savoring small nibbles of a square of chocolate as if the subject didn't bother her in the least. "And they usually travel in groups. People who get hurt or don't have weapons don't have a chance."

"They eat animals too. Any living thing they can get their hands on, really." Glen reminded.

"Do the animals turn into walkers?" Ward asked curiously. He hadn't noticed any zombie dogs or cows running around. He couldn't be sure of cats because they always seemed naturally possessed anyway.

"I wouldn't think so," Simmons spoke up, "most infectious agents are species specific. While animals can be carriers for disease that sickens humans, they typically aren't affected themselves. Due to the differences in immunity and cellular structure it's very difficult for an agent to cross species successfully because they've adapted to the unique environment of the host. It's thankfully rare even when there is a good deal of shared compatibility such as between humans and monkeys or pigs."

Rick sighed heavily and thought it might be time to give them some real information. "We were at the CDC before it fell. There was a doctor there who was studying this too and he said we all have it. Whatever it is, it's in everyone."

FitzSimmons nearly tripped over themselves to be the first to blurt out their thoughts excitedly, but in the end Simmons won. "You were there?!" She asked incredulously. "But what did he say the agent was? How was it spread? Did he gather any data to indicate how it becomes active or how long it takes?"

Rick held up his hand to stop the rapid onslaught of questions that flowed from her like a torrent. He understood that for her the revelation was something like finding the Holy Grail, but he looked her in the eye and in an almost apologetic tone he responded, "I'm not a doctor like you, so even if he did I couldn't tell you what he said because it didn't make sense. All I can tell you is he showed me a video of his partner who was infected, a video that showed her brain. He said after a person died, within a few minutes the brain reanimates as the virus takes over."

"Sounds like an fMRI." Fitz whispered in a low tone to Simmons.

"So it _is_ a virus." She mused while she mulled it over in her mind. "And if everyone's infected that's why I couldn't find any differences among the samples I tested. But is everyone truly infected?"

"What do you mean?" Carol asked intrigued. "Do you think there are people who aren't?"

"Well, I can't be sure without further study but we do know that the outbreak so far has been limited to a single geographic area, likely contained to some degree by the banning of travel by air although it continues to spread where migration by foot and car are still possible…"

Fitz immediately picked up on her thought process and continued "…and if everyone was infected, we would see more walkers in other regions like Europe and Asia, but there haven't been any reports. Even without death by violence, natural deaths would have started a supply of them by now."

"…so either the rest of the world has a natural immunity to the virus, which is highly improbable due to large volumes of travel and immigration to the region, or there is one environmental factor that made the North American population more susceptible to its effects…"

At his very core, Ward was a bottom line kind of guy. He usually ignored all the terminology laden chit-chat that bounced between FitzSimmons like an incomprehensible ping-pong match and waited for the final verdict because to him, that was all that mattered. But this time he felt compelled to add his thoughts because it all sounded too familiar. "You guys don't think…" he started hesitantly, "…could this be linked to New York?"

"Quite possibly. Wouldn't be the first time latent artifacts have caused trouble." Fitz admitted solemnly, regarding Simmons with a sad expression. It still killed him every time he remembered her looking back at him locked in the lab with the cure to the Chitauri virus while he screamed at her with everything he had in him not to jump before she hopelessly threw herself out into the abyss in an act of self-sacrifice.

Simmons hung her head and sighed heavily. "How could I have missed that?" She asked exasperated. "Of course! What do we know about the Chitauri?"

"They're really, really, bad." Glen answered simply.

"And really, really dead." Carol added. Like many others she watched the footage of perhaps thousands of them falling from the sky in a rain of metal and carnage.

"Well, yes and no." Simmons agreed. "They are generally to be avoided yes, but it would be silly to think Iron Man could have wiped out every last being. There are probably hordes of them elsewhere in the universe…"

"You're not exactly helping." Ward warned as he noted the disturbed looks on the survivor's faces.

"Right," she agreed with a tense smile, "anyway we know that although technically alien, the reason they have been so successful is they can adapt and assimilate to human form-probably by eating them. So there is some level of compatibility between species, although as one might expect, not all attributes translate perfectly."

Maggie squinted as she tried to follow her logic. "So, you're sayin' the walkers are what? The invaders?"

"Not exactly." Fitz corrected. "A lot of Chitauri bodies fell across the city that day, which took some time to clean up along with the debris. It's possible that those who were there and who came from across the country to help were infected with an alien virus that until recently was dormant but was quietly transmitted to those they came in contact with. Because the Chitauri and humans are sort of similar biologically, the virus had a suitable host and maybe it tries to replicate through forcing the walker to feed on other people like the Chitauri would, but the match isn't perfect and what you get is a mindless decaying body with enough strength to keep moving because well, they are just a great deal stronger than us anyway."

"All the more reason not to feel sorry for 'em when I put one through the head." Daryl frowned. "It ain't bad enough they're dead, they have to be alien too."

"But this is positive news!" Simmons declared in a cheerful tone. "Fitz, you managed to create an anti-serum for the virus I contracted so it should be possible to formulate a new one specific to this strain." Her optimism faded slightly as she added, "Once we identify and isolate it from the billions of microbes typically present in a human body."

"Technically, we both worked on it." He mumbled modestly, feeling his ears and cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. Truth was, he had never in his life had the motivation to work on anything so feverishly hard and had it not been for the fact he couldn't fathom life without her, he might have given in to his despondency long before he succeeded.

"But even if you do come up with a cure, you guys said animals don't get sick from the virus even if they have it. How are you gonna test it?" Maggie wondered. Having a veterinarian as a father and living on a farm helped her learn a thing or two about the scientific process.

Fitz lowered his eyes and bit his lip while he thought about it. "We…um…we could start with computer models to determine probability of adverse reactions…"

"But in the end we would need to go full scale," Simmons quietly interjected, "which would mean injecting humans."

"Human guinea pigs." Rick summed with a tight, knowing nod. It certainly sounded distasteful, but he couldn't see any other way around it. The prospect of being pumped full of an unknown drug just to see what happened seemed like something he wanted to avoid even if it was a necessary evil.

"Well, to be fair, that's how all drugs are eventually approved. They have to pass human clinical trials." Fitz defended with a shrug. "Of course all this might go easier if we had access to the CDC data, but I'm guessing that's all been lost to rapidly expanding explosive forces."

"What if is hasn't?" Ward asked optimistically. "We all assumed the building was leveled, but most of the infrastructure of any government facility is underground and that's where they keep all the important stuff. If there was anything left, that's where we'd find it."

Fitz's eyes lit up at the possibility. "We wouldn't even have to go in. I could send the drones down to have a look around. Maybe run some exploratory scans…"

Rick shook his head and emphatically stated "You don't want to go down there. Trust me."

"Why not?" Simmons inquired. He seemed very firm in his opposition and it smacked more of fear than certainty of failure.

"The place is crawling with walkers." Carol explained with dread in her voice. "I don't know, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions by now but whatever you hope to find couldn't possibly justify the risk of going downtown."

"The key to ending all this madness. That's what we hope to find and that would be worth the risk." Fitz reiterated with conviction. He gave a small smile and added, "Believe me, we've done some very daft things before and lived to tell."

"I want to help." Glen spoke up with a sincere expression on his face. "I might not have the commando training you do, but I've gotten pretty good with defense out here. I know the city pretty well and I still know a lot of the escape routes."

"He's right." Rick confirmed with a nod in his direction. "He saved my ass from a tank in a crowd of walkers. He knows what he's talkin' about." Whatever reservations he may have had about the SHIELD agents, he found himself rethinking them once they mentioned throwing all caution and common sense to the wind to find any little scrap of anything that might help. That kind of determination and willingness to risk everything left an impression on the former sheriff. The last thing he ever wanted to do was return to Atlanta, but he couldn't help but be drawn in by the possibility of just once more trying his hardest to restore peace and order to the people he was sworn to protect. "You guys seem like the real deal and I had a background in law enforcement. You might use one more."

"That's the kind of expertise we can use." Ward assessed as he gestured toward FitzSimmons. "And don't worry about not having combat training. These two don't either."

"Absolutely none." Fitz quickly confirmed with a tight lipped frown.

Simmons smiled grandly and added, "Different divisions, you see."

"That explains it." Daryl nodded with a new understanding. "I was wonderin' what kind of nut runs around without a weapon. Hell, even a sharp stick would've worked."

"Yes, I know that now. Hence, we are armed to the teeth with all manner of deadly objects that are quiet but effective like a troupe of low-level ninjas." Fitz begrudgingly acknowledged. "But if what you say is true about there being a flash mob of walkers and such, maybe we didn't bring enough."

"I'm thinking not." Ward said worried. "It's a totally different game we're talking about now. Out here there seem to be relatively few walkers and they can be spotted and neutralized easily at a distance or at the very least avoided…"

"Or simply plowed down." Fitz mumbled under his breath.

"…but in a tightly packed urban area with a lot of collateral damage, things can go sideways pretty fast so we need to be prepared." Ward went on without skipping a beat. He heard Fitz, but he thought better of having another showdown with him over strategy.

"I've never liked sideways as a direction. Seems so sudden and slippy." Simmons frowned. "But are you suggesting we…?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't imagine he of all people would entertain bringing them aboard the bus for a mission.

"Yes." Ward confirmed stoically. "I think we can justify it to Coulson by telling him they're material assets that need to be protected. We've done it before and we have the room."

"Yes, and if you remember the last time we played air hotel to guests you and all of us were nearly sucked out into the blue beyond when the side door was blown at altitude!" Fitz cried incredulously. "Never has bringing others aboard been a positive experience!"

"Shaun hasn't been terrible." Simmons offered weakly.

"Aside from the smell, I'd say neutral at best." Fitz conceded. "Not exactly the life of the party, that one."

"Who's Shaun?" Ward asked completely confused. If there was someone else on the bus he liked to think he would have known. Then again, he didn't know Fitz was sneaking around his room and he started to wonder just how in touch with the day to day operations he really was.

"The body you brought back. He named it Shaun." She explained patiently.

"You guys have a walker on your airplane?" Carol asked slightly disgusted. "What in the world for?"

"It's quite a long story, but in short, yes. We do have possession of a walker although Mr. Di…" She immediately caught herself and forced an apologetic smile, "Daryl apparently saw to it so it's no danger to anyone."

"I did?' He asked perplexed until he realized what she was referring to. He grimaced and shook his head as he glanced at Fitz. "You kept that thing? That's kinda morbid, but whatever I guess."

"It's not my friend and believe me, I wanted nothing to do with it. But we did need a known sample." He reasoned. "And at the first sign of opportunity I plan to toss it out the back of the plane and set off a series of enzyme solvent and bleach bombs throughout the lab to properly decontaminate it."

"Fitz, all that's not necessary." Simmons gently scolded her paranoid friend.

"There's no problem that can't be solved with highly charged explosive." He persisted. "Ideally we'd discharge the entire lab section into a volcano and start over, but I don't think Coulson would go for that."

"Who's Coulson?" Rick asked suspiciously. Whoever the guy was, he sounded like he was pulling the strings.

"He's the director. I'm sure he'll be pleased to meet you." Simmons eagerly promised. Incredibly Fitz kept his mouth shut, although she could tell he was dubious about her optimism at best. She too was a little skeptical, but she could always fall back on the fact it was indeed all her superior officer's directive and who was she to argue with Ward? Sometimes the system worked well after all if it meant freeing her of culpability.


	15. The Sleepover

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in forever and a day, but that sort of happens when you unexpectedly move and change jobs…lol. Thanks to those who have picked up the story and so without further ado….**

**Chapter 15- The Sleepover**

"Anyone mind telling me what the hell's going on?" Coulson asked tersely.

FitzSimmons both looked down at the carpet, fully willing to let Ward explain his plan to their boss. For her part, Simmons was feeling as though the director's office was becoming more of her home than the lab and it didn't exactly give her the warm fuzzies. Likewise, Fitz was reluctant to open his mouth given his less than stellar showing the last go around.

Sensing the two were silently conspiring against him, Ward gave them a petulant look and took the lead. "We made contact with the survivors as planned and it turned out they have substantial information that might be helpful. So valuable in fact, I felt leaving them out there in the dark to become monster meat was too risky."

"Isn't that why they're called survivors?" Coulson inquired rhetorically. "They get that name because they are good at not getting eaten. It's how it works."

"Right, but we all know no matter how good you are accidents happen all the time. All it takes is one unlucky break, one slip-up and you don't get to be called a survivor anymore. These people were at the CDC before it went down. They said they met with scientists who made at least some discoveries and they're willing to go back with us to look for anything that may have been left."

Coulson seemed genuinely surprised and he didn't bother hiding it. "You think there's data left in the rubble?" He asked suspiciously. From what he knew and witnessed both through the news and SHIELD intel, the entire complex had been reduced to a mountain of gravel. Although nothing was ever really impossible and if anyone could reconstruct damaged hard drives or data, it would most definitely be Fitz, but even to him it seemed like a longshot. The kid was a whiz, but he wasn't a magician.

Ward shrugged noncommittally. "We don't know, but it does sound like they made quite a bit of headway in figuring things out. If we can even recover a small amount of it, it might be worth it."

Coulson nodded as he pondered the cost benefit analysis. "If anything is left, it could be a big score. But they were working on a lot of things. Simmons, say we found a random hard drive full of stuff. Would you even know where to begin?" It wasn't that he didn't trust her, he just wanted to be sure sending his people out into the zombie horde with a group of strangers with unknown motivations was going to be worth his time and resources.

She looked up at her leader with calm determination. "I believe I would. Rick may not be a scientist, but he was able to share the information he remembered. He said they showed him a video of a person turning into a walker…"

"Probably an fMRI." Fitz clarified with a tight nod. It may not have made any difference to anyone else in the room, but he always did strive for accuracy in such matters.

Simmons didn't skip a beat at her partner's interruption. "…and it's likely he may be able to recognize it or other files if he saw them again. He already told us the disease is caused by a virus that apparently everyone has."

Coulson frowned at the revelation and sarcastically declared, "So now being a zombie is a preexisting condition." It made his skin crawl just thinking that they were all essentially walking time bombs just waiting for some unfortunate event to light the fuse.

Fitz shook his head and cautiously replied "Well, we don't know. They said everyone had it, but I don't think that's the case. It can't be. Statistically there are around 7,000 deaths daily so that's 7,000 new walkers every day even without all the biting and cannibalism. All over the world it's about 152,000 so by now there would be…." He paused to calculate the carnage in his mind.

Coulson regarded him with a mix of intrigue and disgust. "I'm not even going to ask how or why you know those things." He sighed heavily and added, "So it sounds like whatever may or may not be left in the remains of the CDC is really important. Check. And I get that the survivors have been there. But the question is, can we trust them?"

"They certainly know how to handle the walkers." Ward acknowledged. "If nothing else, we can use them for protection. They also said they know the city so we can have access to escape routes."

"I'm not the mission expert here," Fitz quietly admitted with no small sense of irony, "but we probably can't go buzzing in even with the Quinjet. Carol said the city center is stuffed with walkers and the noise will only bring them in. It might be best to go in on foot, but we'll need them to work out a route."

Ward nodded approvingly at the mousy engineer. "Good work, Fitz. I'll make an operative of you yet. I knew once you got a taste out there in the field you'd want more."

The taste he had was more like cough medicine- dreadful but necessary. Rather than explain this to him, he flatly replied, "It's all the uniform, really. Maybe I should wear this in the lab. Might make me feel like I have total command of the universe and I could be more productive."

Ward rolled his eyes and mockingly said, "Ok, Stark Jr." There was no one perhaps more into himself and power than Stark. There must have been some connection between genius and smugness and at times all it seemed Fitz lacked was unfathomably deep pockets.

Fitz wasn't at all offended by the supposed sleight. "He is quite brilliant, so…." He purposely trailed off in a pointed act of passive aggression.

"That he is, but he's also an unbearable narcissistic megalomaniac." Coulson reminded them. "Banner's a nice guy when he isn't raging, and Thor's…well….Asguardian. Point is, nobody's perfect."

"What about Captain America then?" Fitz asked gingerly gesturing to the small framed collection of blood-free vintage trading cards that hung on his office wall. He knew Coulson loved Cap almost as much or if not more than some mothers loved their children and the topic was probably sacrosanct. At that moment he realized he may have just talked himself out of a job by suggesting his boss' favorite Avenger was anything less than perfect.

Coulson smiled gently as he recalled meeting his hero. While he was everything he was made out to be, he turned out to be so much more. In a moment of doubt he actually questioned his ability to save those he cared about, which made Coulson admire him even more. "I'm sure he has his days." He responded in a wistfully fond tone.

The sheer amount of unbridled if not unrequited bromance between them made Ward a little uneasy and he shifted his weight nervously, unsure of what to say. In the end he felt getting back to business was probably the best approach. "So the survivors…" he mumbled as he cleared his throat.

"What about them?" Coulson asked pleasantly. He knew Ward was out of his element in regards to the open expression of feelings and he didn't care. In a way it was fun watching his battle hardened agent struggle with something so mundane. If it couldn't be coerced or killed, Ward didn't know what to do with it. FitzSimmons, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable and willing to let the weight of the moment hang without so much as a second thought.

Ward sighed heavily because he knew what was going on. They were all having a joke at his expense and he was just going to have to live with it. So, he did the only thing he could and smiled grandly as he said, "Simmons told them you would be pleased to see them. I'm sure they've already made themselves at home and are eager to meet the king of the castle."

Coulson seemed completely unfazed as he stood and smoothed his suit coat. "Well, since you were kind enough to invite them aboard, I suggest you be a hospitable host and see to their every need. Simmons, give them some basic medical care if needed. Fitz, show them around as much as you think they need to feel comfortable. If they're willing to help then we can't turn our backs on them. They may be the best shot we have. So," he smiled grandly, "take me to their leader."

Rick and his group remained in the cargo hold of the bus where Ward left them and told them to wait. It wasn't only the polite thing to do, but a very stern looking Asian woman glared down at them from a mezzanine the whole time with her arms folded as though she dared them to touch anything. There was something about her that let them know they probably shouldn't take her up on the challenge, either.

It was just as well for Rick and Daryl who were too occupied with the mint condition cherry red Corvette convertible that sat gleaming in the bay like a mirage. The men carefully approached, but were mindful not to actually reach out and touch it- partly for fear of the woman who guarded them and partly out of anxiety that it might not be real. They snapped to attention when a man's voice echoed across the room, "Her name is Lola."

Rick looked up to see the very definition of a government G-man casually making his way down a winding staircase followed by his agents. His posture was relaxed yet confident and the smile on his face told him he was reasonable, yet still a man who was accustomed to being in control at all times. Even so, it wasn't quite what he expected for the head of a shadow operation. He just seemed too amiable for that. "Rick Grimes." He introduced himself, extending his hand for a shake.

"Phil Coulson." He nodded in a friendly manner, accepting the gesture. He glanced around at the group and it had to be one of the moteliest ragtag bunch he'd ever seen. "I understand I have you and your people to thank for rescuing Agent Fitz. He's a big part of the team. I'm not sure how we'd manage around here without him."

Rick held Coulson's gaze and found him to be an honest man. There wasn't a shred of irony in his tone to make him believe otherwise. He gave a slight shrug and answered, "We really didn't do much. Him and Ward did all the work." He tossed a casual gesture toward the team's search and rescue operative. "We just told him where to look."

Coulson too had to admit the leader wasn't quite what he was expecting. He appeared to be an honorable man, but he was understandably guarded although he did a remarkable job in hiding it behind his casual posture and syrupy southern drawl. This was a guy who was practiced at sizing up people and he wondered if he had some sort of military or police training. "I admire your modesty, but I think we both know things probably would have turned out a bit different had you not intervened." He persisted. "But be that as it may, I understand you're interested in a joint operation with SHIELD. While you're here you are welcome to our resources. Fitz will get you acclimated and Simmons will be available for triage. When you've all had a chance to eat and rest, we'll talk more. Welcome aboard."

As Coulson and May retreated to the upper decks of the bus, Glen looked around with a sense of wonder. "It almost doesn't seem real." He mused in a dreamy voice. "Everything looks so new- like nothing outside is even happening. It's like living in a self-contained fairytale world."

"Except that." Daryl pointed to SUV caked with dried blood. "Looks like they tried washin' it with walkers."

Fitz didn't know what vexed him more about the SUV: the fact it was smeared with the blood of potentially innocent people or the scratch in the armor that marred the passenger's side. "As I mentioned, we're pretty well funded." He reminded them. "We have all the newest and best including some prototypes of my own designs as well as parts and equipment from Stark Industries."

"You're quite safe here. There's no way the walkers can get in and hopefully you'll all be able to sleep peacefully for once." Simmons added with a kind smile. She felt terrible for them to think sleeping on an airplane was akin to paradise, but being out in the field gave her a better appreciation for the relative comfort she unknowingly took for granted and she was glad to share it with them. "Now then, did anyone need a check-up?" She was met with either blank faces or averted eyes and she expected as much. They didn't know her well enough to trust her, but she understood and cheerily said, "Right, then. If you change your mind the lab is straight back. That's probably where Fitz and I will be for the most part."

Fitz nodded in agreement and folded his arms awkwardly. "We pretty much live there." He mumbled feebly. He realized how cramped the bus was going to be and in reality, he and Simmons would probably have to sleep there as well to make room for the others. He might not have minded so much if it weren't for Shaun. He might not snore, but his very presence still bothered him.


	16. Lab Rats

**A/N: Sorry I have been away so long! Just when you think you will finally have some free time for yourself, other people conveniently find things for you to do….sigh….**

**Chapter 16- Lab Rats**

Fitz yawned for the umpteenth time as he mindlessly tapped his pencil against the marred surface of his workbench. His hand was barely propping up his face and he figured he had a solid 45 seconds or so before it slipped entirely. There was a whole pile of petri dishes neatly labeled and stacked in front of him for analysis, but he couldn't seem to concentrate long enough on the chart he was drawing in order to track his data. If he couldn't find it in himself to see to drawing columns on a paper he didn't think it possible to actually do any real work.

Simmons reflexively yawned herself, although she wasn't tired. Between the long days in the lab and the hike through the pit of Hades to get to the survivors, she was well and truly spent and she slept like the dead the moment her head hit the pillow in her bunk. Sheepishly, she asked "Did you not sleep well?" Accommodations had to be made and some people had to give up their spaces- namely Fitz and Ward as they were unlucky enough to draw the short straws. Even so, every available couch throughout the bus was occupied and the conference room in particular looked like a refugee camp. She felt somewhat guilty that she had a nice soft bed to sleep in while Fitz chose to spend the night in his hamster cage next to Shaun. She offered to let him sleep in her berth or even let him have her bed, but predictably he refused. It was almost as though he wasn't comfortable unless he was unhappy and by the look of him he should have been ecstatic.

He glanced up at her with a completely blank expression. Not because he had anything to hide from her, but he found it just took too much energy to contort his facial muscles into anything more dynamic. He didn't sleep well, or much at all really, but he wasn't going to tell her that. She would just start in on him about how silly he was for not agreeing to share her room when in fact he had no problem with the suggestion. They had been friends so long he would have felt perfectly fine sleeping on the floor of the tiny room, but he declined because he didn't want to add fuel to the rumor fire. He was well aware some on the team suspected the two of them had something going on and he was also aware that in terms of career advancement the indiscretion of men was usually overlooked when it was women who suffered from hushed whispers about their integrity or willingness to take on "extra assignments" in exchange for promotions. He hated to think she would be unfairly passed over in the future because of the wrong impression so he laid awake most of the night on the uncomfortable gurney staring in Shaun's direction.

His lack of response was a little troublesome to her, but Simmons pressed on in an attempt to commiserate in whatever way she could while she worked at her microscope. "The queue for the lav was extraordinary this morning. I thought about ducking into the gent's before I embarrassed myself."

Finally he worked up the motivation to miserably mumble, "Wouldn't have done you any good. There's only four of you and six of us. At the end I think Daryl just gave up and went outside to take care of things." He suddenly felt a little dirty discussing the bathroom habits of other men and he felt he had to make some kind of compensatory positive remark to even things out least the conversation go off kilter to territory he cared not wade into. "At least the breakfast was quite good if not a tad on the heavy side."

Simmons nodded eagerly. "I'm not used to the American breakfast, but it was nice of Carol to offer. I have to say, a plate of scones and gravy does weigh heavily on the gut, doesn't it?"

"I don't think I'll be hungry again until tomorrow." He groaned. "It was all I could do to put down the two she gave me." He bit his lip and glanced up to the lights of the bay in contemplation. "I think they call them biscuits though. Funny that."

"They also call biscuits cookies." She chuckled. "Sounds like a word a child made up, but no matter what it's called it was scrumptious and I hope I didn't offend anyone that I could only eat one."

Fitz accidently dropped his pencil, but didn't bother to pick it up. It seemed like such a meaningless gesture. "Glen didn't seem to mind nicking the other one from your plate so I suppose it didn't go to waste. But you know, having a proper home cooked meal like my mum would make was quite nice for once. It seems we're always so busy avoiding near death and such that we don't bother with it. I don't even know that anyone on this plane can cook anyway." Almost as an afterthought he hastily qualified, "Your scrumptious sandwiches notwithstanding, of course."

Simmons laughed lightly as she pondered it. "It's amazing isn't it? With all the specialized skills and training everyone has, it seems anything beyond basic food preparation as escaped us."

He chuckled, feeling himself slip into a better mood. He wanted to be dour, but as always she just wouldn't allow it. "See, that's yet one more reason why we need a monkey. It could make little tiny omelets with toast."

Simmons shook her head and smiled at her partner's ongoing obsession with monkeys and the numerous yet unappreciated applications thereof. "Would you really want to eat food a monkey has made?" Training it to cook would be challenging, but eating food made by an animal that was notorious for throwing its own feces just seemed unpalatable at best.

"It's obvious Ward can't even master oatmeal. It couldn't do any worse. You know we are all just primates anyway, so why bother with the greater/lesser than business?"

"Designations are made for good reason, Fitz. Greater primates are known to possess intelligence and self-awareness that smaller monkeys don't. It's not class warfare, it's biological fact."

"Sort of like our system then." He quietly grumbled. "We are the lesser monkeys of SHIELD while Coulson and the Avengers presumably have the better intelligence and awareness." He finally got up the gumption to pick up his pencil and turn to his stack of disease that patiently awaited analysis, "I suppose we should begin our pointless toiling down here in the depths of lesser-ness with our adorable little hands, then."

Simmons couldn't help but share at least a little of his pessimism. Sometimes it was like a sticky tar she just couldn't help but get tangled up in. "I wouldn't like to think of it as pointless, but sometimes I do have to question the assumption of greater intelligence at the top. I mean, do you honestly think Captain America for all his attributes could sit here as we do and classify all these microscopic organisms? It's simply ludicrous."

"And who do you think made his vibranium shield?" Fitz asked with a sad shake of his head. "I can only imagine it was some brilliant yet wholly unappreciated scientist working 'round the clock in a dark underground lab for months perfecting it, because surely it wasn't conjured up by Rogers in his garage over the weekend."

She nodded in agreement as she carefully adjusted the slide of her microscope. "It seems the only ones who have truly mastered the balance between brilliance and brawn have been Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner. But even then, let's be honest, supposedly neither particularly wanted to become an Avenger. I think both would have been quite happy being left to their own particular devices- Stark making money as an international arms dealer and Banner living far away in a remote village."

"Sounds familiar." He muttered under his breath while he swabbed the contents of the first glass dish. He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder, "But you know, we wouldn't be much different, just the opposite end the spectrum. I think we do quite well in our element, but neither of us are exactly Black Widow level out in the field."

"I think we just haven't had the experience." Simmons disagreed politely. "I imagine like anything else, it is a procedure of applying analysis to a situation and who better than us?" She asked in a chipper tone. "When I do have the opportunity to go out, I try to approach the mission as one large problem to be solved. Like any other we face here in the lab, there will inevitably be smaller obstacles along the way that require attention, but persistence and patience always helps us get to our goal, right?"

He looked up from his pile of dishes teaming with pestilence and couldn't help but give her a small grin. Of course she was right, but he never really thought of it that way. He always viewed missions as impending disasters that he would be lucky to survive, but that was probably because most he had been on were. With no experience he had no frame of reference and he was just more or less along for the ride and dependent on others, but the last one with her and Ward was different. He had been in the environment before, knew all the relevant factors involved, and had some basis for predictions in his encounters. All in all, bugs and dire heat be damned, it wasn't really so bad. "Interesting I suppose, but are you feelin' the same about this one? It's a pretty big problem, I'd say."

"Defining the etiology of the disease, or the prospect of rummaging through tons of rubble in the middle of a million walkers?" She asked glancing up from her work with a sly smirk.

"Either." He shrugged noncommittally. They both seemed equally daunting.

"Fine." She responded, returning to her tiny world of unknown multicellular citizens. "Because I know that whatever happens, good or bad, I won't be alone. You will be there too just as you always have and we'll face it together." She quickly peeked up to give him another reassuring smile and felt a small bit of satisfaction at seeing his cheeks and ears tinge pink with embarrassment. He couldn't have had a better name than Leo- fierce and loyal to the end even he was modest as a mouse about it all.

He never felt the need to question her sincerity, but he also knew she liked to needle him just a bit every now and again. People were often under the mistaken impression she was filled with honey and rainbows from tongue to toes, so much so he wondered if they knew the same person. Sure, the light tone of her voice could lull a bulldog into a sense of complacency, but just like a paper cut you often didn't feel the sting of her wit until sometime after when it was far too late for a respectable retort. She was subversively wicked and yet fairy like- he usually never knew what to make of her and even after all the time they had known one another he didn't feel even one step closer to unraveling that conundrum. Pleasant as it might have been, he had work to do and he turned his attention back to a perhaps bigger mystery that had very real consequences. Every minute he wasted in his mind equated to the creation of roughly a quarter of a walker and that alone kept him motivated and gave him a new sense of discipline. It still didn't mean he couldn't multi-task and his curiosity got the best of him. "Do you think we'll find anything out there?" He asked solemnly as he tilted a dish this way and that looking for any sign the injected antiserum had any effect on the tissue in question.

She looked back at him with an amused smile. He sounded a bit nasally and she discovered it was because he was holding his nose while inspecting the containers. No doubt the general stench of the blood-based medium compounded with rotted flesh made for a head-spinning full on olfactory assault. "Rub a bit of Vaseline just under your nose- it will help." She instructed cheerfully. "I remember I once had this awful decomposed sheep someone found in a bog somewhere at the Academy. If I thought it was putrid at first sight, when I made the first incision near the bowels…"

Fitz slowly shook his head with a horrified look on his pale face and held his hand up to stop her. "And just why are you telling me this wretched tale?" He pleaded desperately. "Is that really a proper answer to the question I just asked? I said nothing that could possibly be construed as a conversation about rotted sheep."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." She gently chided as she changed slides in her microscope and marked off yet another possible viral strain as the culprit. She had honestly never met anyone with such delicate sensibilities. "I was merely trying to tell you that the camphor in the Vaseline will mask offensive odors quite well and I learned that little trick at the Academy whilst performing necropsies."

"And had you just said that I would have believed you and went about the day." He patiently defended. "No need to go on about things that might make me lose my wonderful biscuit breakfast. I don't need proof of your theory."

"But Fitz," she sighed with a devious smile, "you're a scientist! You should always require proof."

He turned his attention back to his putrid pile and mumbled, "Well, my personal theory is that conversations of dead cats, rotted sheep, and bits of walker people are highly unpleasant and I've had enough proof to replicate the findings, leading me to the conclusion that such things should be avoided if at all possible. There then."

Simmons smirked to herself as she studied the little strings of proteins that made up each viral organism and softly mused "There's always room for another trial."


	17. Meeting of the Minds

**Chapter 17- Meeting of the Minds**

Rick tried to keep a completely blank expression on his face while Coulson gesticulated frantically like a man desperately swatting at a horde of mosquitoes. But really, he couldn't help but be deeply impressed at the series of surveillance videos, maps, pictures, 3D models, and files that were seemingly projected by the table as they flitted across their collective field of vision before being discarded by a flick of the wrist in the conference room. It was fascinating that such technology existed, but at the same time it was a little disturbing because it simply shouted Big Brother and he wondered just what else was in the apparently bottomless database the SHIELD director held at his fingertips.

"Ah, here we go." Coulson nodded with satisfaction after finding the file he was looking for. "This was the intel we got shortly before the CDC went down. Didn't seem like much at the time, but there were reports about a small outbreak of flulike infections among some of the first responders who had been to New York. Some patients reportedly suffered high fevers and convulsions before dying, but there was no mention of them coming back."

"Sounds 'bout right," Rick replied grimly, placing his hands on his hips with a small shake of his head to convey his disgust and utter lack of surprise, "they wouldn't want to cause mass panic and besides, who'd believe them that people were comin' back from the dead?"

"Or that the only way to kill them was to shoot them in the head. Seems like bad PR to assassinate a sick hero first responder." He added. "Two days before it blew up, we got word the infection was spreading at a rapid rate, much faster than expected. They didn't give an estimate, but it was assumed to be approaching the millions."

"Two days?" Rick asked with a squint. "We were there. The only other person in that building was…"

"Dr. Edwin Jenner." Coulson nodded. "We had no idea your group was in the building or that he planned to blow it all to kingdom come. In his messages he gave the impression that a small staff remained and that they planned to continue their work, so it was just as much as surprise to us as it probably was to you. You're lucky you got out alive."

Rick nodded and swallowed hard before nearly growling, "Some of us didn't." He had to pause to choke back the memory of pleading with Jenner to let them live and Jacqui's ultimate decision to give up and die. Since that time he had come to accept her fate was for her to decide, but he still couldn't help but feel as though he had failed her in some way. "But Jenner didn't blow it up. The building was designed to self-destruct to contain all the deadly diseases they had onsite. He let us leave, but he chose to stay." He had some degree of guarded faith in Agents Fitz and Simmons, but he couldn't help but wonder just how much closer to a cure they all would be if Jenner hadn't lost all hope and chose to also opt out. If he persevered perhaps it would all be over by now.

Coulson stood quietly and observed the leader of the survivors. He couldn't begin to imagine what the man had gone through up to that point, but the pain and regret was clearly palpable and he certainly could understand how losing a member of the team no doubt weighed heavily on him. The thought of losing Fitz to the walkers was almost too painful to contemplate and he wasn't so sure he would behave any differently than Rick had it all gone another way. "I'm sorry for your loss." He ventured after it seemed Rick had composed himself enough to continue. "I was at the battle of New York and we lost many ourselves. That's the thing about war- you always lose even when you win."

Rick held the man's regard with a steady and grateful gaze. After an additional moment of contemplation, he gave a fleeting grin and replied, "Damn shame if you ask me." He never pretended to think that anyone else really understood what it was like to have the responsibility for the lives of others in his hands. The stress and agony of it all was overwhelming, especially when a decision made with the best intention resulted in the deaths of those who looked to him for salvation as though he had all the right answers. The truth was, he was just as lost and confused as they were but he was unwilling to give up like Jacqui and Dr. Jenner did. Not yet.

"So the question remains, is there anything worth going back for?" Coulson asked mildly. "The potential for exposure to exotic diseases certainly raises the stakes a bit more."

"I told Agent Simmons all I could remember Dr. Jenner sayin' to me, but he also said the French were close to findin' a cure."

The hopefulness in his voice was almost too much and Coulson felt a bit like the Grinch telling the poor townspeople Christmas wasn't coming this year, except he was fairly sure that the survivors hadn't had a Christmas in a very long time. "Except they aren't." He said in a sad tone. "They had a formula that showed some promise, but as it turns out, the biology of mice and humans is a little different. What worked in rats made humans nearly liquefy from hemorrhaging from the inside out in a matter of minutes. I'm sure Simmons could explain it much more eloquently than that, but if you're anything like me I'd be just as happy simply being told it doesn't work. I like to enjoy my meals and sleep at night."

"Then maybe goin' back is the only option we have." He said resolutely. "We can get your people close if they can use their drones to go in to do the searchin' we can avoid infection by walkers or anything else that may be there."

"That's the idea, but given the potential for god knows what out there, I'd like to do a little recon first to know what we're dealing with in terms of logistics and contingencies."

While at his heart he knew Coulson was right to be cautious, he had grown so used to flying by the seat of his pants with so little information or resources he had forgotten what it was like to have the luxury of time and efficient planning. So much so it almost felt like wasted time and effort. Still, he nodded in agreement.

"How's your people?" Coulson asked genuinely concerned. The night before was probably the first time they had anything close to modern conveniences of hot food, showers, and relative safety. "We obviously don't need to go rushing in just yet. If they need a little more time…"

"They're good." Rick assured him, folding his arms across his chest. "They're tough and determined and they know this won't last forever." He meant the opulence that surrounded him, but he was happy enough to let the G-man think he meant the pandemic because he wouldn't exactly be wrong in doing so either.

Coulson sensed just a bit of passive aggressiveness in his tone, but decided to let it slide because he knew the only thing that separated the lives of the two groups was pure circumstance. He also knew that counterintuitive as it seemed, Rick might have been right in thinking that safety was the enemy rather than a welcome friend because comfort often preceded complacency and after all, wasn't that what sort of got them all into this mess in the first place? Maybe a dose of tough love was what they all needed. "Ok then," he smiled congenially, "we will be ready when you are. You supply the scouts and we'll bring the provisions. I'm thinking for a small recon mission, three and three will do." When he noted the predictable skepticism on his counterpart's face, he curiously asked, "Thoughts?"

"Yeah, I got some." He admitted candidly with a stony expression. He understood the director in some respects was calling the shots, but he didn't like to think he was in anyone's service.

Coulson was never one to back down and he met Rick's accusing glare with ease. "The simple fact is, we obviously don't trust each other and that's probably a healthy paranoia because you are always waiting for the other shoe to drop while I have to wonder just how feral you and yours have truly become, but just remember that we're on the same side here. Despite our differences and suspicions, we have both found a way to help one another when the sensible thing to do would have been to turn away. We have a common enemy and a common goal. So whaddya' say you agree not to plunder my plane and I'll agree not to murder you in your sleep. Deal?"

Rick most definitely got the sarcasm, but he didn't find it funny in the least. "Do I need to worry?" He asked raising his eyebrow. It didn't matter what response he got, he had learned the hard way he always needed to worry about everything all the time.

"The only things you need to worry about are Ward's cooking and never using my toothbrush." Coulson shrugged. He didn't want to get into a power struggle with Rick because the cold hard truth was he could kick them all off the plane and fly off without so much as a glance back because he had the technology, resources, and manpower to either solve or elude the problem far longer than the survivors. Still, he was also a firm believer in not burning bridges or making needless enemies, so he tried to play it as neutral as possible so as not to derail the entire mission before it even started. "Well, you can risk Ward's cooking if you want but seriously- don't ever use my toothbrush."

Rick looked at the odd man and lightly shook his head. "Noted." The very thought of it actually sickened him a little.

"Now that we have that straight, I suppose we should get a team together. I'll send May, Simmons, and Ward. You?"

"If all we're doin' is lookin' around any of us will do, but definitely Glen. He's the route man. Maybe Daryl and myself too if we need to fight off walkers."

"Exactly why I'm sending Ward and May." He agreed. "You should have enough muscle to bust your way out of Ft. Knox…of walkers…" he trailed off at the unpleasant but not wholly impossible situation given what he'd seen in the SUV with Ward and Fitz.

Rick couldn't help but smirk at the uncharacteristic crack in Coulson's usually cool veneer. "She any good with a gun, Agent May?" He had only seen her briefly when they arrived in the cargo bay, but she certainly looked formidable.

Coulson broke into a wide grin. "Among other things, yes." He was convinced she could kill a man with a blade of grass if she had to. "Which reminds me, Fitz told me about noise drawing in more looky-loos so I'll make sure each of your men are outfitted with the proper gear." After a brief pause he felt he had to clarify. "That we will need back, of course."

Rick didn't even blink, but he was beginning to become annoyed with the insinuation he and the others were kleptomaniacs. Even more so he didn't like the feeling stirring deep in the pit of his stomach that he was being manipulated for some unforeseen purpose. The best way he knew to deal with people like Coulson was to be equally slippery and keep him guessing. If he couldn't get a handle on his personality, he wouldn't know where to push buttons or how to apply leverage when the time came. "Fine," he agreed with a tight nod as he slowly sauntered away from his colleague, "but you know that when we leave we're takin' all the towels."

"Alright then. Just leave the toilet seats." Coulson called after him cheerily as he swiped downward toward the holotable to close the virtual file. Rick was certainly a tough nut to crack, but he had been around many other people and aliens who were far more obtuse than him- Thor and Stark immediately sprang to mind. It would take a little more work, but he was certain with enough humor and patience he could win the trust of a man for whom it had sadly become all too hard.

In his experience the things that were the hardest to obtain were often the most valuable- Lola and his vintage Captain America cards notwithstanding. There was simply no replacing those. But perhaps infinitely more valuable was the very essence of humanity itself and his mission and that of his team was to save it. It was an honor and a burden like nothing he had ever experienced and in that respect he and Rick had more in common than either could have imagined.


	18. Going for the Gold

**A/N: Hope you all had a great turkey day! I have been working nonstop for the past few months, so updates have not come as regularly as I wanted for this story, but only a few more weeks and hopefully I will get a break! Thanks for your patience! **

**Chapter 18- Going for the Gold**

Ward, along with the others, quickly flattened himself against a nearby wall as soon as he noticed Rick give the signal to do so. If he thought marching along the dirt road with Simmons and Fitz was bad, this was a special kind of hell all its own. He bowed his head to stifle the gag reflex that nearly threatened to give him away when he realized he was literally standing in a pile of rotted guts whose owner lay only feet away reaching for him even though it had apparently been bisected by a car quite some time ago and was now more or less glued to the pavement by its own dried blood and viscera. It wasn't the blood and gore that got to him because he was no stranger to that scene, but it was the smell. The entire city of Atlanta and its millions of roaming corpses had been baking in the hot summer sun for months on end and the stench was simply overwhelming. He also knew that the closer they got to downtown the worse it would get as the legions of the dead would become more concentrated. The only thing that made him feel better was glancing over at May who for all her stoicism was wiggling her nose at the olfactory assault and trying to breathe through her mouth.

Daryl held his crossbow at the ready while Rick cautiously peeked around the corner only to see a thick horde mingling about a block away. He turned back to Glen and growled "It ain't gonna work. We need to find another way." They were only about ten blocks from where the CDC used to stand, but it was just too dangerous to risk trying to cut through the crowd or remain exposed any longer than they had to. Even if all six of them completely unloaded their guns and hit every target, they would still be outnumbered and those were odds he didn't like in the least.

Glen sighed in frustration. He didn't expect the mission to be easy- nothing ever was, but he didn't think just a little bit of luck was too much to ask for. "We're too far away to go the rooftops so that leaves us with going underground to the sewers or becoming one of them."

"Excuse me?" May asked a little perturbed. She didn't spend half of her morning wading through and dodging dead bodies only to just shrug her shoulders and give up. "Care to explain that last option?"

"Not literally," he replied while rolling his eyes, "but- and I know this is beyond gross- we found that if you cover yourself in their guts you can walk through the crowd unnoticed."

Ward looked simply horrified while Simmons went slightly pale at the prospect and gave voice to what he was thinking, albeit in a much more rational and proper manner. "Well then, that certainly sounds… unpleasant."

Daryl smirked as he watched May sigh and bend to scoop up a handful of guts by Ward's feet and proceed to smear it all over herself without hesitation. She glanced at Ward and mumbled "Guts or shit, you'll be covered in something so pick one."

Simmons hadn't really thought about it in those terms, but May's logic certainly made sense and she too began to rub a handful of decaying intestine into her shirt and down her arms, but with much less commitment than May displayed. "I suppose given the two options the risk of potential infection is greater with feces." She tried to rationalize her actions more to herself than others because there was still a very small part of her mind which balked at the idea of contaminating herself with the blood and tissue of another ostensibly living thing like some savage, but she was glad Fitz wasn't there because he would simply refuse to do such a thing no matter how logical it was.

Rick took a few steps toward the unwitting donor and quickly plunged his knife deep into the temple up to the hilt until the body stopped writhing and moaning. He ignored the slurping sound of the blade as he pulled it out and quickly opened what remained of the chest cavity to scoop out the contents for the rest to use as cover. He didn't really look at the body and as a general rule he never did. He didn't want to think about what or who the person may have been before turning. A teacher, a drifter, a beauty queen, a preacher, it didn't matter. He couldn't allow himself to see them as people because they weren't- not anymore. He killed them more for his own safety, but he couldn't help but feel he was also doing them a favor by ending their suffering whether they were aware of it or not. He could only hope that someone would do the same for him if and when that time came.

When everyone was sufficiently covered in unpleasantness, Glen turned to the agents and instructed "Just follow us. Try not to talk and just go slow."

Simmons gripped the straps of her backpack containing the drones tightly and tried to summon the courage to enter the crowd of walkers calmly. It just seemed so completely contrary to her own survival, but she had to trust Glen and the survivors. If they said it would work then she had to believe it would even if she couldn't explain how that might be.

Daryl noted her trepidation and as he took up position behind her he leaned in close to whisper, "Don't worry, you'll be alright. I got your back." She gave him a brief and tense smile and he added, "'Sides, if somethin' happens to you, Fitz'l have my ass. Anybody who uses words as big as him can damn sure put them to use and I don't wanna see what he comes up with."

"Actually, I think he has a great deal of respect for you. All of you, really, but you in particular. The two of you are kindred spirits of sorts, each wonderfully good at what you do even if others can't completely understand it."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Ain't nobody ever compared me to a rocket scientist before, but if you say so." In fact, no one really ever had anything positive to say about him his whole life and even if they did, he wouldn't have believed them. He seemed to have more success in the apocalypse than he ever did beforehand and he wasn't really sure what that said about him as a person. At times he wondered if it took the apocalypse to make him realize how valuable life is and although it was hard for him, how important it was to trust others sometimes.

May followed Rick cautiously through the throng of death and decay. She kept her eyes forward and tried to ignore the milky stares of the corpses as she slowly passed or the feel of their slippery, spongey, rotting flesh against her skin when they clumsily bumped into her. She concentrated on maintaining a calm demeanor and controlling her heartbeat. She wasn't sure exactly how they knew who was one of them and who was a potential meal, but she resolved to regulate her body functions as much as possible so as not to appear afraid and blow her cover. She felt somewhat helpless as she shuffled along knowing that even if they could go through the crowd and kill every walker that came into proximity without being noticed, they could be at it for hours and still not even begin to make a dent. She had never before found herself in such overwhelming conditions and expert as she was, if it wasn't for the survivors she and the others may have added to the population out of sheer exhaustion.

Ward too inched forward behind Glen with a slightly staggered gait to make himself move as they did without losing his own balance amidst the trash and body parts strewn across the pavement. Although they were making good progress, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disorientation as he looked to the streets filled to capacity with former residents surrounded by gleaming skyscrapers that were once the center of business and homes in the sky. It was as if life abruptly stopped and although there was a mass of motion swarming through the streets, there was no life to be found.

The group slowly pressed forward until they came upon the heap of rubble that once housed the only hope they knew of for finding a cure. Rick, Daryl, and Glen looked at the pile of debris somberly, knowing it served as a tomb for those they knew and not one of them ever thought they would return to visit the grave of the fallen. Finally, Rick turned to Simmons and asked,

"How's the range on those things?"

She shrugged off her gear and began unpacking the machines as well as the tablet that controlled them. "Fitz built them to maintain communications for up to two kilometers, although that distance may be shortened a bit with all the broken concrete if we can find a suitable shaft." It took quite a bit of convincing because he really did see them as his robotic children, but Fitz relented to them as well as her going on the mission.

While the others took up positions around the area to fend off any excessively curious walkers, Rick couldn't help but be amused at the little black probe as it softly buzzed and circled the site before plunging below the surface. He tried not to be too obtrusive, but he stole as many glances as he could at the images being sent back to the tablet over her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind and in fact, she took the opportunity to share her excitement. "I managed to find a hole big enough for the drone. Does this look familiar?"

Rick squinted at the low light image being projected and it took a minute, but he finally recognized the sinage by the twisted steel doors which once offered him safety and almost sealed his fate. "That's the entrance. Can you get it to go in further?"

"That's what these little things are meant to do!" She cheerily responded as she launched a few more to follow the scout and gather data for potential later analysis.

Daryl couldn't help himself. He had been casting a wary eye down the street, but he also found himself inching closer step by step to see what came of the disaster. "Go left." He mumbled as he recalled the mental map he had made while he was there the first time. It was a habit he used as a tracker to help him navigate dense woods or unfamiliar places. "Left again. There should be a set of stairs straight ahead. That led to the lower levels."

Although the directions were easy enough, it was still hard for Simmons to navigate with all the twisted metal, hanging wires, and displaced objects that had been tossed like toys in the explosion. Still, she managed to guide the drones as Daryl had instructed and found the staircase. They looked on with baited breath, but were not surprised to discover most of the lower level had been obliterated in the blast. "Well, at least the drones aren't detecting any unusual strains of disease or dangerous airborne particles." She observed optimistically. "Oh wait. Hello. What have we here?" She hummed excitedly.

Rick grimaced and shrugged as he stared at what looked like a pile of twisted metal scrap. "I dunno. What is it?"

"These," she announced giddy with glee, "are titanium data sticks. They're usually used to record scientific data considered to be critical or sensitive. Titanium is resistant to heat, pressure, and in cases such as the CDC are also easy to disinfect if you're trying to limit the spread of potential contaminants whilst sharing data with your colleagues."

"How the hell did they survive the blast?" Glen hissed in awe. He thought it best to hold his position, but could still hear them talking enough to piece together what was happening.

"They are quite sturdy. It's why titanium is often used in the aerospace industry." She replied.

"Can you retrieve them?" May asked firmly. She was just as surprised as anyone that anything of potential value could be recovered, but they had to keep their focus on the mission for the time being. There would always be time for amazement later.

"Yes, I think so." She nodded in determination. It was not lost on her that the walkers were ever present and a few had even wandered dangerously close. She concentrated hard and made a few failed attempts at disentangling the heap before she was finally able to pick up all three of the sticks she could see. "They must have all been stored in one place. This might have been a filing cabinet." She mumbled to herself as she pushed various buttons on the console to order the drones to return with their bounty. She unconsciously bit her lip as the drones weaved their way through the rubble and finally surfaced.

"I wonder what's on them." Ward mused. It wasn't the mission to retrieve anything, but he for one was fine with the deviation from the plan if it meant they didn't have to return to the stink stew.

"I don't know," Simmons admitted, "perhaps nothing but we won't know until we get them back for analysis. They're no doubt encrypted and I hope Fitz can access them for me."

"Let's hope there's something on them. I don't want to think I smothered myself in guts for nothing." May quipped as she frowned down at her appearance.

"No matter what's on them," Rick proclaimed as he began the trek back to the outskirts of town, "you didn't get bit today and that's not nothin'."


	19. Is There A Doctor In The House?

**Chapter 19- Is There A Doctor in the House?**

Fitz twirled his pen deftly between his fingers like a mini baton in the parade of anxieties that marched through his mind while he swiveled in his chair and stared blankly at some random schematic on his computer screen he couldn't remember why he even pulled up in the first place. Actually, he knew why he did it; he just didn't know why he chose that diagram in particular. When he found himself feeling helpless and irritated, he usually found comfort in the straight and decisive lines of blueprints and electrical plots. The lines offered a sense of direction and certainty he at times lacked and it reminded him that out of apparent chaos often came something utterly brilliant and useful. He also found that perhaps subconsciously, the more unsettled he was, the more complex the drawing and he pursed his lips when he realized he was glaring at the tangled mess of white lines running amok against a black background that was the wiring of the bus' cockpit.

"Looks like an X-ray of a plate of spaghetti." Maggie mused from the doorway with a smirk. "Then again, I'm no engineer, so take my opinion with some salt."

Fitz turned to her and gave a light smile. He had no idea how someone who lived with daily horror the way she did could possibly still find a shred of humor in anything. "Not very tasty, I'm afraid."

She briefly glanced around the lab at all the fancy equipment, steel, and glass and couldn't help but feel like she had been transported to the future. She pulled herself back to the business at hand and said, "I didn't mean to interrupt you workin' but I just wanted to see if anyone made it back yet. I was hoping to see Agent Simmons."

He knew she didn't mean anything by it, but her choice of words sent a chill up his spine. If _anyone_ made it back? "I um…no. Not yet." He stammered uncomfortably as he considered the prospect that they might be in a race for their lives to get back to the bus and only a few if any of them would even make it. Of those they sent, only Simmons would be at greatest risk because all the others were fighters and survivors well equipped to handle themselves. She would no doubt be brave to the end but…..

"Fitz?" Maggie called worriedly. There was something in his blue eyes that troubled her. Something dark and troubling that made his whole face ashen as death. Carefully, she ventured "You ok?" She didn't know him all that well, but she felt they had shared enough to maybe make some kind of connection. "If you wanna talk…"

He blinked rapidly and looked to his desk, immediately regretting the fact he tended to keep his workstation excessively neat because there was nothing for him to shuffle or look busy with. "I'm….um…yeah, I…." He closed his eyes and silently cursed himself for not even being able to put together a coherent sentence.

Maggie thrust her hands into her pockets and took a gamble. "I'm worried too." She admitted. In her mind, either he would take the bait or he would kick her out of the lab, but either way the ambiguous situation had to resolve itself because the atmosphere had become so heavy it was stifling.

He momentarily thought about denying it, but he knew he was never really was much of a liar. Not like Ward could or even May if she was omitting the truth, but Maggie was savvy and she could see right through him. "It's part of the job, unfortunately." He muttered miserably.

She smiled warmly and replied, "At least that's what we tell ourselves, right?"

"Meaning what?" He asked puzzled.

"Meanin' that there's always some reason, some need for the ones we care about to go away. We know that it might be necessary, but we also know that things may not go to plan and they may never come back. You wanna stop them, but you know you can't and the whole time they're gone all you can do is sit and imagine the worst, but hope for the best." She explained knowingly in a soft voice. "It's absolute hell, ain't it?"

He wanted to respond, but his voice caught in his throat and all he could do was nod in agreement. Somehow she was able to completely read his mind, but while Simmons was doing her job he imagined it was even worse for her because Glen never signed up to live in a crazy, post-apocalyptic world. None of them did, really, and it made the prospect of losing friends and those you had come to consider as family all the more wrenching and seemingly pointless. Finally, he swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, "Why were you looking for Simmons? Did you need something looked at?"

"It's nothin' really. Just a sore ankle I've been walkin' on for a few weeks. But I suppose you're a doctor of sorts too, right?" She joked lightly before proclaiming grandly, "Dr. Fitz."

He was never comfortable with the deference his professional title often evoked and his is cheeks blushed slightly as he stammered, "Well, technically yes, but generally speaking only those associated with the medical fields use 'doctor.' If I did, it wouldn't exactly be wrong, but it would make me a bit of a wanker."

"A what?" She laughed. "I have no idea what that is, but it kinda sounds bad."

"Is is." He confirmed. "Or I guess it can be. Anything can be done to excess I suppose." He realized he was rambling and cleared this throat least he go down a long, strange path expounding on the exact meaning and use of the term. "I mean, I'm not a medical expert like she is, but unfortunately since we've been here I've learned a thing or two and I help her from time to time with exams and the like. I can have a look if you want me to."

"You sure? Seems you were busy doin' something a minute ago." It wasn't that she didn't trust him because really, just about anyone could handle a minor injury such as hers, but she also didn't want to disrupt him from the cure he said he was working on. She would gladly walk a hundred miles with a sore ankle if it meant he could even come 10 minutes closer to ending the nightmare for everyone.

He gestured for her to go have a seat on the exam table on Simmons' side of the lab and shrugged, "Go on then, up you go. Really it's no bother." The truth was, he was glad for the distraction. He warmed his hands by briskly rubbing them together while he waited for her to remove her dingy boots and socks, stained with red clay and no doubt blood. It was a thoughtful little trick he picked up from Simmons. She always warmed her hands and any instruments she used before touching her patients with them just to make them a little more comfortable. "Right then," he gingerly ran his fingers along the tendons and bone, "any pain?"

"A little." She admitted with a wince.

He smirked when he realized 'a little' was probably a little more than she was comfortable with copping to. "Ok, I'm going to move your foot and I want you to try to resist." He didn't have to pull her foot toward him too far before she gave a small yelp and nearly squirmed off the table. "I see." He nodded with compassion. "It may be a wee bit worse than you thought. It looks a bit swollen and I'd say it's probably a bad sprain but still, you might have Simmons take another look when she gets back just to be sure. I can wrap it up in the meantime and give you some aspirin."

"Thanks, Dr. Fitz." She smiled.

He couldn't help but smile himself because he knew she was just having a go at him good naturedly. "I'd tell you to stay off it, but I know you won't." He chided tossing her a packet of aspirin while he began unrolling the ace bandage he found in the supply cabinet. He carefully stretched the bandage and followed the curvature of her foot and ankle around and under and over until he felt it offered a good balance of support to reduce the swelling without being too tight so as to cut off blood flow. "Now keep in mind, I'm not a doctor but I sometimes play one."

"I think I'll be fine." She nodded gratefully. "You're doin' a sight better than I did for you, but if we're talkin' surgery I might have to reconsider your credentials."

"You did a fine job considering you had nothing to go with." He shrugged as he carefully placed the shiny anchor clips to hold it all together. "Still, it all ended well didn't it?"

"Did it?" She asked timidly. "I mean, even if he never said so, I think Daryl feels a little guilty he may have damaged you permanently."

Fitz looked up startled. He never once considered the fact that Daryl may have been worried about him. He just didn't seem like the kind of guy who cried over spilled milk. "No! I mean, I don't think so. I'll be fine. Just a bit sore, but it's mending nicely. He really shouldn't feel bad, though. He did what he had to. I certainly don't think badly of him- he saved my life and so did you. All of you did."

"Well, it's a sad but true fact that if you wanna stay alive, you stay to yourself. But this time I'm glad we didn't. No matter what happens to us, Fitz, I can say I'm glad I met you."

He felt a hot blush rapidly spread across his cheeks and he nervously laughed, "Yeah? Why's that?" He was almost sure she meant 'you' in a more general sense than him directly, but he still felt terribly embarrassed nonetheless.

Maggie noted his discomfort and she didn't mean to make him feel awkward, but she felt she owed him an honest explanation. "Because you're like Glen. You remind me of the world that used to be and the one I hope we can find again if it ain't lost."

He knew what she meant, but also like her, he was a pragmatist and as a scientist he knew that failure was always an option. "I don't think it's lost, but even if it is our kind are a stubborn lot. Societies have been reduced to rubble before and they always came back to build something else- something better. Even nature does it with mass extinctions. Each event was no doubt traumatic for the living things at the time, but no matter here we are."

She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees while she contemplated his words. Finally, she frowned and asked, "Do you think that's what this is? Another mass extinction thing?"

Even he had to admit he never considered the disease to be a mechanism of cyclical ecological events, but it was an interesting theory. "Not in the sense of the dinosaurs, no. It's true humans have no natural predators except for ourselves, but pestilence has nearly wiped us out before. The plague, 1917 flu pandemic, tuberculosis…" he shrugged noncommittally, "but even then just like this…whatever it is…they were limited to geographic regions and tended to burn themselves out in a short time. Let's hope this follows the same pattern." It was quite a high hope in his estimation because no other virus or bug that came before ever had the capacity to reanimate victims to further carry and spread itself the way this one did. It was almost downright evil.

"Fitz," she called softly, her face reflecting what he could only assume was resignation, "If you ever have kids, do you ever wonder what you'll tell them?" She breathed a heavy, weary sigh and clarified, "How will you explain that the world wasn't always like this? That it wasn't so long ago that things were different?"

He bit his lip while he thought about it, because really he never had given a moment's consideration to either having a child in the near future or having to explain anything so dire to a mind that couldn't possibly grasp such a thing. "I dunno, but I suppose I'd have to tell them that the world always changes." He responded quietly. "That in reality the world your parents and grandparents grew up in didn't really exist for you in any real sense and their kids won't understand the world as we know it today because it will also be different. Point is, I think we all want our kids to grow up just like we did, but no one ever really does- they can't. Each generation makes the world their own and even though we might see it as starting off worse than we did, they won't have the burden of knowing what life was like and it will be normal to them. It's really more traumatic for those who know the difference than those who come after I think."

"Really?" She asked skeptically as she cocked her head. She simply couldn't believe it wouldn't have any impact at all.

"Sure." He shrugged. "When I first went to Berlin with my mum I was around 12. I remember walking with her along the wall and past the Kaiser Wilhelm church and I thought 'well then, isn't that something?' For me it was a mere curiosity because I'd studied WWII a bit, but for my grandparents it was terrifying because they lived through having bombs rained down on their heads every night. They used to tell stories about visiting cousins in London and sleeping in rail stations underground so they wouldn't get killed as children. It was my mum's first trip too because they wouldn't let her go to Germany after that. A bit daft if you ask me, but I suppose it made perfect sense to them." His tale seemed to elicit a small smile from her, so he gave a light chuckle and added, "But let's be honest then. I work for a secret organization dealin' with all manner of space aliens, arming giant green guys with gadgets and armor to fight them, and the like so this is just one of many bizarre things I'll have to account for some day. I'm sure my grandkids will think I'm daft as well."

"Do you think much about the future?" She asked tentatively. She used to, but she could only imagine that whatever was to be, his future was a lot brighter than hers in any case.

"I want to," he admitted quietly as his thoughts again turned to Jemma and his team, "but I've come to realize that it's probably best to just live in the moment because it's all you have, really."


	20. The Friends You Keep

**A/N: Happy Holidays to everyone!**

**Chapter 20- The Friends You Keep**

He simply couldn't move himself to speak. He felt rooted to the floor as if his very feet had been bolted there, yet he felt he was on the verge of exploding at the sight of his best friend and partner looking incredibly exhausted and covered in blood. Ward had barely thrown him a glance as he walked past the lab with Rick, Glen, and May in tow- each looking intense and somewhat unsettled. The entire parade was a gallery of blood soaked weary souls who gave the impression that whatever they had witnessed out there was beyond description and that was what worried Fitz the most. He had been there himself and he no doubt worried Simmons in the same manner, and although he knew it was deeply wrong of him to think so, it was somehow different this time because it was her.

Simmons dropped her pack to the floor with a heavy sigh and pretended not to feel the crushing weight of Fitz's stare boring holes into her back as she began unpacking the drones. She wanted to pretend that it was no big deal, that none of what she had seen or perceived in the city of dead was actually real, but she couldn't help but be unsettled by being faced with a horror she couldn't explain and quite literally couldn't get away from. The putrid blood and tissue clung to her clothes, smeared her skin, and she swore it tainted her very soul. After a few moments of silence and several futile attempts at blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, she testily half turned to Fitz and asked, "I assume you have something to say, or if not, can find something useful to do." As soon as the words left her lips she almost cringed at how harsh she sounded and the mildly wounded look on his face was almost too painful to see. "I'm sorry," she sighed shaking her head apologetically, "that was utterly uncalled for. I just suppose I might have been a bit unprepared for today."

"Hey," came a rough southern drawl from the doorway, "we good?"

Fitz took in the sight of Daryl equally bloodied with his bow slung casually across his shoulder as if he were perfectly comfortable with it all. He thought back to what Maggie had told him about feeling bad for misfiring and it was that moment he realized the hunter was simultaneously incomprehensibly mysterious and incredibly transparent. All along he had been communicating, he just chose very slight changes in posture or facial expression to convey his thoughts and if one wasn't speaking his language it was easy to think he was either stupid or a psychopath. But in looking closely at his nonverbal cues he realized Daryl was genuinely concerned about them even if he did possess an air of indifference.

Simmons smiled brightly at him and sweetly replied, "Yes, I believe I am now. Thank you for looking after me today." If she was expecting some kind of a 'you're welcome' it came in the form of a tight nod before he went on his way, leaving her to stand there smiling like a soiled porcelain doll.

"Looking after you?" Fitz prompted curiously while he tried to look busy and act like he really didn't care to engage in the idle gossip he was so desperately craving.

"Not like that." She playfully scolded with a raised eyebrow. "It was absolutely mental in the city. I mean completely shambolic which is why I'm covered as I am. As it turns out, if you smear the entrails and fluids of a walker on you it serves as a cloaking device of sorts." She couldn't suppress her enthusiasm as he nearly squealed, "Fitz, I waded my way through a veritable sea of walkers. It was unbelievably intense, but they showed absolutely no interest in us. Do you realize what this means?"

He regarded her blankly for a moment before asking, "That you are the Queen of the Damned and in desperate need of a shower and a change?" Try as he might to keep his wits about him, the sight and smell of her was freaking him out a little and knowing he was more or less trapped between her and Shaun in the next room made him feel a little queasy. Not that either posed any real danger to him, but with every breath he was reminded of his own nearly fatal miscalculation and he couldn't help but envision her youthful face withering and decaying before his eyes.

She ignored his petulant sarcasm and pressed on. "Now we are a little closer to understanding how they locate the living. We know they have poor vision so it seems they are first attracted to unusual noises in the environment like gunfire or yelling and then once they get close they can somehow smell a marker that differentiates them from the others. But now the question becomes what do they smell?" She asked with a frown while she contemplated potential causes.

"Sweat?" He guessed with a shrug. "It contains trace amounts of salt, urea, fatty acids, and androgens which…."

"…when mixed with bacteria causes body odor easily detectable to most olfactory systems." She agreed. "And I'm fairly certain our decaying friends do not sweat, so there is one possibility."

"And any products like shampoo or deodorant would certainly smell foreign." He added grimly. "But I wouldn't think it's that because if so, all the walkers would be crushed together in the pharmacies and grocery stores eating bars of soap and upending bottles of body wash like a can of whipped topping."

"Well, that's a mystery for another day and I think we already have quite enough on our plates to digest. One monumental task a time, shall we?" She hummed lightly as she fished into her pocket to retrieve the titanium data sticks. "But these just may help us on our way."

Fitz looked down at her hand as though it contained glittering bars of solid gold and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Where did you get those? Did you find them at the CDC site?" He asked incredulously. "Jemma, that's absolutely brilliant!"

"I know!" She agreed enthusiastically. "We might have a real chance at gathering some intel on what they knew." She took a small step back and pursed her lips and in a much calmer tone she added, "But of course we must keep in mind that there was a ton of research being done there and these may have come from a separate lab or some other completely unrelated project, so let's not get carried away."

"Right," he agreed stoically, "they might be blank or too damaged to be of any use." Although from an engineering standpoint he could clearly tell from the condition of the casings the titanium did a fine job of resisting the blast force and thus, whatever data they contained was safe, he felt compelled to play along because as scientists they had a solemn duty to be objective and to always expect the worst. "I expect they will have some sort of encryption, so let's have a look and see what we're dealing with."

"Oh I can't wait!" she smiled as she moved to his bench and pulled up a chair to have a seat next to him.

He cleared his throat slightly and swallowed before meekly suggesting "It might be best if I work on getting you access to this while you get cleaned up. You know Coulson will want a debriefing and you'd better not show up in his office like that. Might stain his carpet or something." He felt a little bad about tossing it all to Coulson, but it was a plausible argument and he just couldn't bring himself to tell her he simply couldn't sit next to her smelling as she did.

The eager light in her eyes faded just a little as she realized the true purpose of his suggestion, although her demeanor didn't. "Ah, the debriefing." She shrugged and gave a laugh that sounded almost as hollow as it really was, "I always forget that part." In a quieter and almost defeated voice she mumbled, "Right then, I'll just go have a quick sud n' scrub and I'll check in later."

He felt absolutely terrible as he watched her leave the lab, her head hung a bit lower than usual because she wouldn't have cared one bit if he came back slathered in muck. She would have sat right next to him no matter what he looked or smelled like and he felt like a jerk as he picked up one of the sticks from his desk, the silver surface smeared with a light tinge of ochre blood. She went through hell to get the treasure and all she wanted was to see what was on them like a kid at Christmas opening a shiny gift. The sickness churned in his stomach again but this time it wasn't his own terrible memories or the repulsive smell of putrid flesh that still hung in the air even in her absence. He felt terrible at his own cowardice and inability to suppress his own reactions for his best friend when she had done so for him while saving his life. She faithfully tended to him even though he was slicked with feverish sweat, dirt, and blood that offended even him. She stuck by him, at times irritatingly so, even when she wasn't sure if he had contracted anything that might sicken her too. She made a starving man a sandwich to replace Ward's oatmeal soup as a humanitarian act for crying out loud. There was no getting around it. He was wrong and he would have to make up for it somehow, but in the meantime the best he could do was to have the files code broken and ready for her inspection upon her return.

He plugged one of the sticks into his computer and to his surprise it was very easy to open, but to his dismay it was because the stick was blank and contained no files. Undaunted, he tossed it aside and reached for another. He was mildly pleased when he was promoted to type in an access code. "Must be something here…" he hummed lightly to himself "Now it's just a matter of figuring out the secret knock to open the door." Brilliant as he was, he was no computer hacker per se. He wasn't a psychologist either, but it didn't mean he didn't know a thing or two about both and that common denominator was the propensity of people to be lazy and predictable when it came to passwords. It only took him three attempts before he was in and he shook his head in dismay. "You've got to be kidding me." He sighed in disappointment. "Top secret government data and the password is 12345. Unbelievable." The final stick took more persistence and as he worked on finding the right combination of letters and numbers with the help of a little program SHIELD had in its general toolbox, it occurred to him that each stick was probably used by a different person, each with their own password. Problem was, none of the sticks were obviously labeled with the scientist's name so it was anyone's guess who was working on what.

It took about an hour, but his tenacity paid off and he flipped through the files of both data sticks as they were uploaded to the SHIELD database. Some of it looked like simple expense reports and others were obviously scientific papers in various stages of completion, but there were also lab reports, diagrams, and video files which he felt were of most value, although it was all a goldmine as far as he was concerned. All he knew was there were hundreds of files in all and he and Simmons had a very late night ahead of skimming, discussing, and comparing to figure out if any of it was worthwhile. In some small way it would feel as though they were back at the academy again cramming for finals and it made him smile. Sorting through voluminous piles of data would be tiring, but exhilarating and he couldn't wait to make a pot of tea for the two of them and perhaps a scone or two as a conciliatory act so they could get started.

He hoped if even only for a few hours things could feel the way they used to- a time when all they had to worry about was the science and playfully debating the merits of ideas as though it were a pleasant hobby they both could win rather than the racing against the clock in a desperate game of life and death on behalf of humanity with the very real prospect of terrible loss that it really was.


	21. A Glimmer in the Dark

**Chapter 21- A Glimmer in the Dark**

Fitz stared at the floor, eyes ringed with red and slightly swollen because he couldn't stop himself from rubbing them in exhaustion no matter how many times Simmons admonished him and warned he was likely to catch an eye infection. His desk was a mess with scribbled notes, scone crumbs, used tea bags, and a half cup of cold, bitter tea. He realized he should maybe tidy up for the visitors, but he didn't have an ounce of energy left. For the moment, he was just enjoying the momentary break and resolved to micronap and pretend he was actually listening.

Rick stood casually by the lab doors and took in the weary scientists. It wasn't lost on him how much time and energy they had spent on trying to figure out the relevance of the data sticks and their contents. He had to say he was impressed with the tenacity of Agent Simmons and her perpetual cheerfulness relative to Fitz who seemed to have gone into hibernation mode since he, Coulson, and Ward came to check on their progress, although he thought there was something to be said about just not giving a damn no matter who was present.

"So tell me the foray into the cesspool that was Atlanta netted us some valuable intel." Coulson said hopefully. "I'd hate to think we had to burn a good amount of tactical gear for nothing." The look on his face was somewhat stern because he wasn't kidding. There was just no getting the stench out of the fabric no matter what they used. Even if they did, pretty much everyone made it clear they had no interest in wearing the tainted items and would rather risk getting shot.

"Well, yes and perhaps." Simmons replied meekly. "They were doing some fabulous research into using virus vectors to cure certain types of cancers with quite remarkable results I must say. Although the trials were only in the very early preliminary stages, it certainly looked promising."

"Good to know…" Coulson stated with slight irritation in his voice. "But unless this whatever it is we're looking for is a cancer it doesn't really help." He paused and cocked his head slightly. "It's not, is it?" The truth was, he wasn't really sure what they were looking for anymore.

"Doesn't seem so." Fitz piped up as he languidly stretched and yawned. "Besides, cancers don't spread through biting and even the most aggressive types don't kill within minutes."

"Right." Simmons agreed with a tight nod. "I'm fairly certain we are looking for a virus here as Rick stated the doctor told him it was. It's the only thing that would make sense given the method and rapid transmission we're seeing in the population."

"But we did find these." Fitz said pulling up a folder of videos on his computer for them all to see. "Some of these aren't clearly labeled, but Rick, you told us the doctor showed you a video of a person. Cold you look through these and see if you recognize it?"

Rick gave a light, noncommittal shrug as he crossed the room to take a chair next to him. "Sure, but it was a while ago and like I said, I'm no scientist so I didn't know what I was looking at. But hell, let's give it a shot. Can't hurt I suppose."

"Ok, then." He smiled nervously as he hastily tried to clean the rubbish from his desk so he would at least have a clean space to work. "I'll let you get at it. So you just push this button here and…"

Rick looked up at him with a mildly offended expression. "Yeah, I know how to use a computer. Hasn't been that long."

Ward didn't even try to hide his amusement as he sniggered at Fitz's snafu. "Yeah, Fitz. Give the guy some credit. He can drop a walker at 100 yards with a handgun. I think he can manage the whole point and click thing."

"Thank you, Agent Ward." He hissed with acid in his voice. "I was merely trying to be helpful and considerate. Something you might try sometime."

"You two play nice with each other. Am I going to have to put you both in time out?" Coulson asked playfully with a slow shake of his head. "Sometimes it feels like I'm running a preschool here."

Fitz brushed past Ward on his way to the trashcan to throw out his garbage and muttered in a dangerously low voice, "Just remember you're in my sandbox right now. I can make things very, very bad for you if I had a mind to. A gun that's an ounce too heavy will be the least of your worries."

"Really?" Ward scoffed but nodded approvingly. "You're finally growing a pair. It's a good look for you, really." He leaned down a little closer and with a glint in his eye he added, "Too bad Simmons doesn't ever see them. Or does she?"

Fitz rolled his eyes as he walked away. "Grow up, Ward." He decided to dispose of his trash in the galley just to give him more time away from the lab and the people it contained. He never really could fully comprehend Grant Ward. One minute he was all buddy-buddy and the next he was snarky and almost sadistic. He seemed to know all the wrong things to say at just the right moment like it was all a game to him, a way of maintaining power and to keep him in his place assuming he didn't serve some hidden purpose at the moment. He hated feeling used and manipulated by his own teammate. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

"Whoah." Daryl growled as Fitz ran smack into him.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he wasn't paying attention to where he was going and as he bent down to retrieve a few items he dropped, he stammered "I'm sorry. I should be looking where I'm going."

Daryl casually chewed on a bit of beef jerky as watched Fitz clean up. "Seems like you're in a hurry." He observed knowingly. "Where's the fire?"

"There isn't one. If there was, an alarm would sound and lights…" he glanced up and realized Daryl looked about as disappointed as Rick did. "But, then again you probably knew that." He sighed deeply. He blamed his extreme fatigue for apparently repeatedly implying the survivors were uneducated hicks who didn't know how fire safety systems and computers worked and he hung his head in exasperated defeat.

Although Daryl was almost used to people assuming the worst of him be it his motivations or intelligence, he never got the sense that Fitz was one of those people and he liked to think that he was very good at reading others so he let the unintentional sleight slide and he offered his hand to help him up. "You guys were up pretty late. Find anything?" When he noted the confusion on Fitz's face he flatly noted "I don't sleep much. Habit, I guess."

Even though Fitz thought it slightly creepy Daryl was spying on them in the lab in the wee hours of the morning, he was even more disturbed by the fact that no one in SHIELD seemed to notice him doing it. May usually had the night watch and absolutely nothing got by her. "Ever thought about working for SHIELD?" He asked half laughing and accepting the help up. "You and Hawkeye would make quite a team."

"Not really my thing." Daryl admitted. He never held a regular time clock punching job in his life and there was no way he was going to run around in some skintight leathery getup doing the bidding of others.

"Just as well I guess." He admitted darkly. "Your talents would be well utilized here, but I just don't see you and Agent Ward getting along."

Daryl gave a light chuckle and ripped another bit from his stick of jerky. "Kinda seems like a dick. I'd keep an eye on him."

"What do you mean?" Fitz asked, his blue eyes wide and innocent. "He's been with the team since day one. I mean, the man has flaws but…"

Daryl thoughtfully chewed the salty, fibrous strip as he watched the house of cards in Fitz's eyes collapse under the weight of ever increasing doubt. "Hey, I could be wrong." He mumbled. "You know him better than me, but I probably ain't. All I'm sayin' is I've seen men like him before. People'll turn on friends and family when they got somethin' to gain and he's lookin' for somethin'."

"And what are you and your lot looking for?" He asked quietly. It just wasn't in his nature to see the worst in people despite his personal penchant for gloominess.

"As I said," he grumbled as he shook his head, "I could be wrong." He didn't want to start a war with anyone, least of all Fitz because in a way he almost envied him. They guy had a group of people that cared enough about him to risk life and limb even when there was a good chance he was already dead. He had a steady source of supplies, and a safe place to lay his head every night. All in all it was a semi-charmed life as far as he could see. But what Fitz couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't allow himself, to see was that not everyone was what they seemed to be and he hoped in the end it wouldn't be his undoing. "'Sides, we'll be out of your hair in a bit."

"Why?" He asked a little scared for what awaited them outside the safety of the bus. "Where're you going?"

"Meet up with the rest of our group. We were supposed to be there days ago. If we don't show, they'll assume something happened and move on." He enjoyed the relative safety and comfort of the bus as well as any of them, but really, life for him was no different there or outside as he preferred to be independent. Danger was just around the corner no matter what and he wanted to be in control of his own fate as much as possible.

"There's more of you?" He asked surprised. "How many more?" He simply couldn't imagine taking on any more people. As it was, the bus was packed to capacity and they were quickly running out of supplies.

"Nothin' you need to worry 'bout." Daryl assured him as he sauntered away with hardly a backward glance. "We'll take care of ours. You just work on that cure 'cause ain't none of this worth a damn without it."

Fitz quickly disposed of his garbage and almost ran back to the lab. Much to his relief, Ward found somewhere else to be in the interim because he honestly didn't know how he would have dealt with him. When he entered the room, Rick was nearly expressionless as always, but Simmons was nearly bursting at the seams. "Fitz!" She nearly cried. "TS-19!"

"Beg your pardon?" He asked politely, utterly confused.

"File TS-19! Rick spotted it as the same video he was shown. Can you believe it? Come, have a look. It's really quite amazing." She bubbled in excitement as she cued it up. "The test subject was reportedly bitten by a walker. As you see, the cortical areas are the first to shut down followed by the subcortical structures as one would expect during the course of a non-violent death." She narrated dispassionately. "But wait for it….there!" She grew more animated as she jabbed a slender finger at the brainstem as a small, smoldering firestorm of light sparked and grew steadily. "See it lighting up again? And now the subcortical areas reanimate, but the cortices never do." She bit her lip and lowered her voice a bit because she wasn't sure how he would react to the meaning of it all. "Fitz, it's the proof we were looking for. The walkers only have the most rudimentary of life support systems activated in order to function. The cortical areas, the place where memories are stored and thoughts take place are gone. They're alive but no longer human. They're merely reactionary as are amoeba or a salamander."

"So…so they don't know they're suffering?" He asked hopefully. The nightmare of Ward callously plowing them down had haunted him for many nights and every time he looked at Shaun he wondered who he was and what memories his diseased brain held.

"It doesn't seem so." She replied in a compassionate tone. "Furthermore, they don't seem to recognize pain or fear from what Rick and Ward have told me. In fact, I would rate them similar to mobile plants in terms of what they are capable of processing. Quite deadly plants, but vegetation all the same."

"That seems a bit harsh." He frowned distastefully. "Would you say the same of a child born with anencephaly? No," he challenged, "you'd still say it was a human even though it was incapable of processing things like fear or even sensory information like bright light."

"I'm not saying they aren't human," she sighed in exasperation, "what I am saying is that they aren't capable of the experiencing the life they had before they died. They can't appreciate the meaning of their existence in any measurable way the same as simple multicellular organisms react to noxious stimuli without any real understanding. Fitz, be rational!" She pleaded.

He wanted to yell his frustrations, but he kept his wits about him and instead held up his hand to motion for her to pause while he calmed himself enough to respond. "I can appreciate what you're telling me," he began in a measured voice, "but I shouldn't be the one who has to remind you that the brain is still largely a mystery. We don't, point in fact, know exactly how it works and we haven't run any experiments to know what they may or may not feel. And because we can't know these things for certain, we can't be wrong in treating them as though they were human and not some unfeeling cluster of cells."

"If this is a public discussion, can I add my two cents?" Rick asked quietly. Without waiting for an invitation to continue, he sighed as he scratched his stubble and said, "I've already made it clear I'm not a doctor so if you say they can't feel the way we do then I'm inclined to take you at your word. Now I'm no preacher or philosopher either, but I know what feels right and Fitz has a point. Maybe they don't think or feel anything, but maybe they're still just enough like us that we should be humane when we can. Not for them, but for us." He looked to Simmons and his eyes were filled with unexpected passion which nearly took her breath away. "'Cause if we lose sight of that, don't it make us just as dead and unfeeling as them?"

"Of course," she replied breathlessly, "I want to be clear that at no point was I ever advocating otherwise. I just wanted to offer some scientific insight into the process that makes them what they are. Unfortunately, science only says what is…."

"It's up to people to decide what it means." Fitz joined in with a small smile. It was an old adage common to all sciences and being on the same page with his partner again soothed his soul. They had disagreed many times before, but they always came back together because they both understood that the only way forward and toward the truth was through scientific exploration and inquiry. "Ok then," he began to summarize running a finger along his lips, "so we know the process and we sort of know the cause. What we don't know is how to stop it."

"Actually," Simmons smiled as bright as the sun about to go supernova, "I think we might. It's quite a long shot, but I think it just might work."


	22. The Departed

**Chapter 22- The Departed**

"Are you sure about this?" Coulson asked with a skeptical squint. "I mean, of course you're free to do what you think is best, but if what Agents Fitz and Simmons tell me is true, we're pretty darn close to cracking this thing and your group have ringside seats. I'd think you'd want to be a part of that."

Rick licked his lips and hung his head slightly. A part of him knew it was madness, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. "I gotta go get 'em if they haven't left already. My boy's with them and I…" he stopped to clear his throat least the emotion that was welling up inside him made his voice crack. "I have to go get him. I can't lose him."

Coulson nodded his head slowly as it all started to make sense to him. "I see. Well, as I said I can't stop you, but I can offer a ride. Problem is, there's no more room on the plane and we're running out of resources. It's a problem easily solved by heading out of here but FitzSimmons…" He noted the slight confusion on the leader's face and he waved his hand dismissively, "we call them that because it's like they share a brain. Eerily so sometimes, but they also need to get out of here for their project. Seems they think not everyone's infected but we need to head to a different part of the world to test that theory. I can have Agent May drop you in the vicinity of your people and we can give you the rest of our supplies and some trackers. If this all works out like we hope it will, Fitz promised you the first antidote and I'm prepared to honor that but we'll need to find you again- alive and well. The virus might bring people back from the dead but we can't." Deep down he knew it was in poor taste, but he just couldn't help himself. With a barely suppressed smirk he quipped "We're not _that_ well funded." However, his smile faded because he knew the TAHITI technology did exist, but it wasn't like they had a portable unit on the bus and besides, he wasn't sure Rick needed to know about the program given his trust issues.

"We'd appreciate it." He nodded gratefully. While he may have been suspicious of any government entity due to demonstrated absolute ineptitude in handling the outbreak, he had to admit SHIELD had so far done what they said they would. It didn't mean he implicitly trusted Coulson and his crew because only a fool would believe they weren't hiding something as secret agencies tended to do, but as far as he could tell there was nothing nefarious going on as it pertained to them. And as much as he knew caution was imperative to survival, having a trustworthy ally with ample resources was equally important. Despite his own reservations, he had to remind himself that it was SHIELD who played wingman to the Avengers during the invasion of New York, so they did have at least a good amount of humanitarian street cred in that regard.

"Will all of your people be going with you?" Coulson asked pleasantly as he leaned back in his chair. "If any of them are in need of medical care or anything, they are welcome to come along for the ride. Unfortunately we have some official business to tend to, so there won't be any opportunities for a shore excursion and they won't be permitted to leave the plane. I know," he admitted with a light shrug, "worst tour company ever, but we should only be gone two days at the most and the best part- no passports required."

Rick scratched his scruff and shook his head. "I dunno. It's up to them to decide. I just know what I gotta do."

"Understood. Just let me know ASAP. Wheels are up in 40."

To Rick's surprise, it only took half the time allotted to get a final headcount and dole out the appropriate amount of promised supplies. If he was ever skeptical of their trustworthiness, he could never again question their efficiency. "Here are your guns," Ward announced personally handing each survivor their protection, "each modified to be lightweight, accurate, and more importantly, silent. They can be fully automatic and have the power of a 45 caliber with the recoil of a 22 so they are easy on the wrist if you have to use them for prolonged periods. Easy to reload," he continued, deftly ejecting the cartridge and swiftly sliding another in, "because they are magnet guided which means you only have to get it close and it practically loads itself. You will each get two clips plus a box of ammunition each, giving every person almost 1,040 rounds. That should be enough firepower for a few days." He smirked with a glint in his eyes.

Fitz tried not to roll his eyes at the handsome Rambo and his lust for weaponry. After all, all the modifications he went on about almost like a used car salesman were his ideas and doing and least he get the credit for it all, he piped up, "And they are highly resistant to jamming as they are coated with a special polymer that makes them repel dirt, water, or…walker parts and…whatever." In truth he never tested the effectiveness of the polymer against walker flesh and fluid while developing it, but there was no reason to doubt its performance.

Sensing yet another blow-up between them which seemed to be more frequent lately, Simmons brightly interjected "Agent May is waiting for you in the Quinjet with your food provisions. Before you go, here are your trackers. They are really quite innocuous and sturdy and they'll stand up to just about anything. Just slip them into a pocket and forget about them! That way, we will be able to locate you easily when we return- providing you do keep them on you." She couldn't help but glance at Fitz out of the corner of her eye. Even with low-acuity peripheral vision she could see his lips draw into a tight line across his face in displeasure, but it didn't make her feel any less justified in her observations. "I'm sure Maggie and Glen will be anxious to see you again when we return."

Daryl didn't like the idea of being tracked like some animal, but he slid the little black disk into his pocket as she suggested because in truth he was worried on some level that Maggie, who decided to stay because of her ankle, and Glen, who predictably stuck by her, may not be able to find them without it.

Carol silently stowed her gear in the various pockets of her clothing. While she tried not to judge the actions of others and to some degree she understood the need for comfort, she couldn't help but feel a little resentful toward Glen's decision to stay with SHIELD. Maggie was almost a given because in practical terms, while a sprained ankle in the normal world would only be a minor annoyance it could literally kill her if she wasn't able to keep up and in that state, she became a liability to them all. She was better off staying on the plane where she was safe and not likely to be left for dead. But Glen was more or less healthy and by also deciding to stay, he was depriving the group of added protection from walkers. Every person contributed to the group's survival and the fewer links a chain had the more susceptible it was to breaking under strain. Perhaps due to having been in an abusive marriage she had a skewed perspective of relationships, but she just couldn't see his choice as anything but selfish.

Rick was almost humbled by Daryl and Carol's choice. They actively chose to forego ample food, safe shelter, and prolonged life to go back out into their crazy world with him. Neither had family the way he did- not anymore. Despite leaving Merle for dead on a rooftop, Daryl somehow found a way to at least partially forgive him and had almost become his right hand man. Carol lost her husband, no large loss in his estimation, but more importantly her daughter to the walkers. Both were the only survivors of their families- they had no reason to put their necks out for him, but they did. At the same time, he couldn't fault Maggie and Glen for their decision to stay. He always was a firm believer in doing what was right and protecting those you loved, so he felt comfortable in leaving them with SHIELD for the time being because he knew he would see them again. Coulson was a man of his word and he had to trust him.

"Not to hurry you off," Fitz mumbled uncomfortably, fully realizing that was exactly what he was doing, "but if we're to make our launch time Agent May's got to get you to your drop point in the next few minutes."

"Well, let's get goin' then." Daryl declared, turning on his heel toward the cargo area. He wasn't a sentimental man, but he did have feelings and the unpleasantness of the whole venture was probably best addressed like ripping off a Band-Aid- abrupt and without apology.

Maggie and Glen waited for them by the ramp to the jet, feeling justified by their actions as it was a free choice, but guilty for exercising that right all the same. While Rick and his crew could leave feeling assured of reunification when contact was made, the same couldn't be said of them. Goodbye felt like it could very well be permanent. While they were safe and jetting about the world in an armored luxury sky hotel, Rick and the others may die fighting for their lives. Although it looked like SHIELD had outfitted them well with provisions, safety was never guaranteed.

"Godspeed." Coulson said as he shook Rick's hand before he walked up the ramp to join the others. "I hope you find your son in good health."

Rick took one last look at the G-man and nodded approvingly. "Thanks for all your help. I uh…I left all the towels for now. Figured I'd be back to get them later."

"Much appreciated. Walking around nude drip drying after a shower probably isn't a great team building exercise." He quipped.

"Try walkin' around covered in walker guts." He replied darkly. "Works amazingly well."

Coulson squinted and cocked his head to the side. "Have you _actually_ met Fitz?"


End file.
